Alchemy and the Order of the Rosy Cross
by mindpalace hell charlottesweb
Summary: Mary is leaving John and going to work for MI 6. John moves in with Sherlock, but things are not so harmonious. Sherlock is starting to get bored and is beginning to take dangerous chances with his health. However, when Mycroft recruits Sherlock, John , and Mary for a mission, they must learn to work together if they are to stop an evil plot that is being hatched in Prague. A plot
1. Chapter 1

John, Sherlock and Mary sat silently in John's therapist's office. Her kind, dark eyes searched the faces of each of her clients. John and Mary looked angry, confused and tired. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. Everyone shifted in their chairs when the therapist finally spoke.

"So, John why don't tell me why the three of you have been ordered by the magistrate to attend counseling." Everyone started talking and pointing at once. The therapist sighed. "I believe that I addressed John. John?"

John shifted forward in his chair. "It all started when Mary lied about who she was. We finally got past that and then three weeks ago she tells me that she is not pregnant and never has been."

Mary stood up. "Don't make me the villain. I was afraid to tell you the truth, since you get so hysterical. However, after you told me about your night with Sherlock, I thought you might have developed enough courage to hear a dose of reality. Apparently I was mistaken."

The therapist glanced at Sherlock. "Sherlock, what is your view?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Well, it was my first time and I must say it was quite lovely. I definitely have been missing out on something by not indulging my sexuality."

John ran his hand over his face. "Jesus, Sherlock, don't you ever follow a conversation?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I thought that was the most logical response."

Mary looked at John and Sherlock and shook her head.

**Three weeks previous.**

John dreaded the conservation he was going to have with Mary. He had to tell her he had slept with Sherlock. Mary padded into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"John, what did you want to tell me?"

John felt the pit of his stomach burning from stress. "Mary, while you were out of town, I stayed with Sherlock."

Mary shrugged. "So, what is so different about that?"

John swallowed. "I spent the night with Sherlock and we…Um we well you know we …We…Sherlock and I slept together."

Mary looked at John for a moment and started to laugh. "John, really and why is that not a surprise? You two have always been attached to each other. Well, fine I have something to tell you as well. John, I'm leaving you. I love you, but I'm not cut out for marriage. Mycroft offered me a job with MI 6 and I want to take it."

John stared. "Mary, you can't go off on some dangerous mission. You are going to have our baby. I promise I will never see Sherlock again, if that's what it will take for you to stay."

Mary had tears in her eyes. "John, it's not Sherlock. I just can't be married, I long for my old life. As far as the baby, there never was a baby. I knew you would eventually find out who I really was, so I started acting pregnant. I also knew that Sherlock would observe my symptoms and due to his massive ego I calculated that he would be the first person to point out his observations to everyone. I meant to tell you right away, but the time was never right."

John was getting angry again. "So, Mary did you ever care for me?" His voice lost all traces of aggression. John felt so weary.

Mary walked over and hugged John. "John, I adore you. I will love you forever, but I can't live the married life. I hate it. I am meant to be free."

John's chest felt tight. "God, I hope I don't have another heart episode over this. Although it would serve you and Sherlock right if I dropped dead."

"John, don't talk like that." Mary's voice was a higher pitch than normal, which betrayed the stress she was under.

John angrily pushed away from the table. "I'm going out. Don't wait up." He slammed the door so hard the windows in the flat rattled. John wandered around London for hours. He wasn't surprised when he ended up at 221B Baker Street. He took his key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and made his way to the living room to where his chair was. John gratefully sat down and let the familiarity of the flat surround him with comfort. John knew Sherlock had entered the room even before he spoke. Sherlock was everything to him and John welcomed the thrill of electricity that ran through his body when Sherlock spoke his name.

"John, are you alright? It must be at least 3am." Sherlock limped over to where John was sitting and plopped down on the floor in front of his chair."

John smiled. "Sherlock, let's take a look at the heel to see how it is healing." Sherlock leaned back and propped his foot on the chair in between John's legs. John, then gently examined the place where a piece of glass had been embedded in the heel of his foot. "It's healing nicely." John's voice sounded extra loud to his own ears. He hadn't failed to notice how Sherlock had leaned into his touch. John loved how Sherlock appeared to be so detached, and yet his body always responded with anticipation whenever John touched him. Sherlock's foot was shaking as he moved it back to the floor.

John bowed his head down. "Sherlock, Mary has left me. She never was pregnant. I am so boring she can't even be with me anymore. I'm Mr. Nice Guy-Mr. Boring."

Sherlock stood up and walked around to the back of John's chair and embraced John from behind, as he ran his hands down John's chest.

John gasped. "Sherlock, now might not be the best time."

Sherlock was nuzzling John's neck. "Nonsense, what I have in mind will help you much more than talking."

John leaned into Sherlock's embrace. "God, are you always right? Sherlock…" John's voice trailed off in a breathless whisper.

Sherlock was always full of surprises and tonight was no exception. John followed Sherlock into his bedroom. Once inside John took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock shook his head. "John, as much as I want you I think you just need to rest." Sherlock then dove under the covers and patted the bed. "Come on, John."

John felt like an awkward canine as he plopped down beside Sherlock. As soon as John was safely wrapped in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock's large, white Afghan dog jumped in the middle of them. Sherlock laughed. "Come on, Confetti. John won't bite."

John looked over at Sherlock. "You named the dog confetti?"

Sherlock snuggled closer to John and Confetti. "Yes, it fits him. Get some sleep, John we will talk tomorrow." John fell asleep immediately. Once Sherlock was sure that John was totally out he crawled out of bed and made his way to the living room. Sherlock caressed the red leather case in his pocket. He wanted a fix so bad he could taste it. After all most of John's problems were probably all his fault. A fine sheen of sweat beaded in small drops on Sherlock's forehead as he fantasized about the needle going into his vein. God, Sherlock could almost feel the feel of the cold morphine as it spread through his body. Sherlock leaned his head back and gasped in an effort to ignore the need that shook his body violently. He was so distracted that he didn't notice John hovering over him.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John's voice was full of worry.

Sherlock rolled his eyes back to focus on John. "John, the need is making its way through my body as we speak. I will resist it; however, it might not be a pleasant night, so you may as well go back to bed."

"Sherlock, I can distract you." John whispered.

"John, go back to bed. I crave the drug, as I crave you. The thought of the morphine and you both making their way through my body, is such an intoxicating idea that I can barely contain myself. John, you could inject me with just a little and then I would take you in my arms. We could both forget about everything. Please John just a little." Sherlock's hands shook as he reached in his robe; the Moroccan case seemed to burn in his palm.

John took the case from Sherlock. "Sherlock, how much have you been using?"

Sherlock was clutching his stomach as nausea tore through him. "John, I haven't been using that much, just a little every day."

"Jesus, Sherlock I don't need this. If you and I can't wean you off of this poison, you are going to have to go to rehab." John took the syringe out of its case and held it out to Sherlock. "Show me how much you have been taking." Sherlock pointed to the smallest marker. John glared at Sherlock. "Sherlock, tell me the truth." Sherlock sighed and pointed to a mark higher up on the syringe. John nodded. "Sherlock, give me your arm." John inspected it; the track marks weren't too deep. "Sherlock, I am going to inject you with a slightly lower dose of the morphine. You know I could lose my license for this. However, you going cold turkey isn't going to do either one of us any good tonight. Sherlock, you must promise me that you will follow my detox program." John took the morphine vial and filled the syringe. It was hard to ignore the desire that filled Sherlock's eyes as he watched John prepare the dosage. John then gently injected Sherlock with the morphine.

Sherlock sighed in relief, and then locked eyes with John. John swallowed and thought. "God, I must be some kind of pervert this is turning me on."

"John, come here." Sherlock's voice was silky like a vampire in one of those erotic movies.

John shook his head. "Sherlock, as much as I am turned on right now, we both need to get well."

Sherlock slipped off his robe. John shook his head. "Jesus, how come you never have anything on under that robe?" Suddenly, the events of the day caught up with John. "Sherlock, what are we going to do? I'm so tired of everything nothing seems to ever work out for me." John ignored Sherlock's state of undress. "I don't know why I put up with you Sherlock. Come on let's get you to bed." Sherlock let John take him upstairs to his bedroom. John tucked Sherlock in bed and then kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight, Sherlock. We will get this all sorted out tomorrow. I guess we are stuck with each other."

Mrs. Hudson hovered over John and Sherlock like a mother hen with her chicks. "Sherlock, you are looking so much better now that John is here taking care of you. It's so nice to see how you boys care for each other." She smiled as John and Sherlock drank tea and ate biscuits. Sherlock snuck a few tidbits under the table for Confetti. Mrs. Hudson smiled at the domestic scene before her and left.

John slapped his newspaper down so hard that Confetti jumped and ran out of the room.

"John, you scared the dog." Sherlock admonished.

John glared at Sherlock. "Well, maybe it's because that dog is the only thing you're nice to these days. I know you are in detox, but I am sick of being your whipping boy."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, with a wicked grin. "Your whipping boy?"

John abruptly got up from the table and stopped when he heard the bell ring from the front door.

Sherlock looked up. "Ah, that would be Mary."

John stared at Sherlock with an incredulous look. "Did you know she was coming by?"

Sherlock clasped his hands together in front of him. "No, I deduced that the pressure exerted on the door bell …"

John interrupted Sherlock and sighed. "Sherlock, I don't care about your deductions. I going to do the logical thing and answer the bloody door."

John opened the door for Mary. She looked wonderful and John felt a lump in his throat. How could two people love each other as much as he and Mary had; and end up like this? John cleared his throat. "Hi Mary, how are you?" John hated the nasal sound his voice made when he was nervous.

Mary nodded. "I'm fine, John just fine and you?"

John shrugged. "I'm fine too." "God, this bloody awkward," John thought.

Mary swept past him into the kitchen. Sherlock looked up. "Hi, Mary, I would get you a chair, but since you aren't pregnant, I hardly think it matters."

Mary sighed and shook her head. "Well, it's the same, rude, boorish old Sherlock. It's nice to know some things don't change."

Sherlock nodded in Mary's direction. "Why thank you Mary, it's nice to know someone cares."

Mary looked from John to Sherlock. "Oh, it looks like you two are having a domestic. Should I leave, then?"

John shook his head wearily. "I'm going back to bed. I don't care what you two do."

Mary made a move to stop John. "John, you know I really feel bad for you. First you get me and then you get Sherlock. You deserve better, and God knows Sherlock is not better. He leads you around by your nose and you clean up after him every time. John, I can accept that we weren't meant to be, but Sherlock, really? Sherlock is an indulgent, spoiled, narcissistic, on again off again drug addict, who only thinks of himself. John," Mary's voice was softer. "Sherlock will never be able to take care of himself properly, let alone you. You will always be the one he leans on and when you need someone, he will conveniently claim he is a sociopath, and leave you to lick your wounds alone. It's all about the chase with Sherlock. Now that he has you, well, John, you will bore him and he will leave you. John, find someone who is capable of caring for you. Sherlock is only in love with himself and will probably end up dead of an overdose in an alley somewhere, or worse yet get himself killed looking for the case that will give him his next fix."

Sherlock had sat quietly until Mary had finished then he went and stood beside John. "Mary, everything you are saying about me is true. However, I care for John, more than you could ever know."

Mary smiled sadly. "Sherlock, if that were true, how come you faked your death and ignored him for two years? How come he has had to come and rescue you time after time? Sherlock, you're a robot, only turning to John when it is convenient for you. Sherlock you …."

John spoke for the first time. "Mary, please don't talk to Sherlock like that."

Sherlock smirked at Mary. "See you are incorrect, Mary. John…"

John yelled. "Both of you STOP, NOW"

For a moment Sherlock and Mary were silent. Mary was the first to speak. "John, look at this place, it is a pig sty. There are so many dishes piled up in the sink they are starting to overflow on to the counter.

Sherlock walked over and sniffed at the pile of dishes. "You are quite right, Mary they really are starting to smell. I will have to get Mrs. Hudson to clean up."

Mary rolled her eyes and gestured towards. "See, you can't even clean up after yourself. Mrs. Hudson is not your housekeeper."

John was thoroughly pissed by this time. "You two want the dishes done?" John then walked over and scooped up a handful of dishes, opened the window and threw them out the window.

The sound of brakes squealing filled the room. Sherlock, John, and Mary winced as the metallic thud of cars impacting each other drowned out all other sounds. Sherlock moved his head in time to each crash. "Was that seven or eight crashes? I counted eight. John, Mary, how many crashes did you count?"

The next sound they all heard was the wailing of sirens.

**The Present**

"Well, that was about it. The police then came up and arrested all three of us." John's mouth was dry after all the talking, so he just leaned back in his chair. The therapist looked from one to the other, and was about to speak when Sherlock clapped his hands together.

"Well, according to my calculations the session is over. Come on John and Mary, let's go."

Sherlock's voice was full of enthusiasm. Sherlock, John and Mary stood on the sidewalk outside the therapist's office. They all three looked unhappy and confused. Sherlock was the first to speak. "John, I don't see how you can stand therapy, I don't feel better at all. I don't think we should go again, it's boring." John was about to reply when a black limo pulled up to the curb. Even before the window rolled down John knew it was Mycroft, Sherlock's brother.

Mycroft poked his head out the window. "I need you three to get in." His soft voice purred.

Once inside the limo Mycroft took a spacious seat facing Sherlock, John and Mary. He looked mildly amused as they jostled each other for a comfortable place.

"Sherlock, why don't you go and sit with your brother?" Mary's voice was full of exasperation.

Sherlock looked straight ahead. "You go sit with him, Mary."

"For God's sake will someone go sit with him? I am being crushed in the middle." John complained. "Why am I the one in the middle?"

Sherlock looked at John with a patronizing glance. "I should think that would be obvious."

John leaned forward as far as he could manage. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock sighed. "You are the smallest, John."

John looked outraged. "Mary is smaller than I am."

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope, she outweighs you by…"

Mary interrupted Sherlock. "Oh for God's sake, I'll sit next to Mycroft."

Mary squeezed out of her seat and sat next to Mycroft. She then glared at Sherlock. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Mycroft smiled, he clearly was enjoying the tension between Sherlock, John and Mary. "Well, are you three ready to stop quarreling for a moment? I have a mission I need you to go on."

Mary looked over at Mycroft. "When do I leave?"

Mycroft laughed. Sherlock dreaded that sound, for it meant that something unpleasant was going to happen. "I need all three of you to go to Eastern Europe."

Sherlock swallowed. "All three of us are to go? Is this a no return mission like the last one you were going to send me on?"

John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock. "What do you mean a no return mission like the last time?"

Sherlock waved him away. "John, you worry too much. After I shot Magnusson, I was banished from England. Mycroft was sending me on a no return mission to Eastern Europe. How long was I to last six months?"

John's pupils were totally dilated as he leaned forward in his seat. "You sent Sherlock on a suicide mission?"

Mycroft shrugged. "It was better than him languishing away in a prison cell. Besides Moriaty showed up, making the decision to banish Sherlock immaterial."

Mycroft leaned back and reached under his seat and took out a decanter of Scotch. "Would anyone like a drink?"

All three voices answered in unison. "Yes."

Mycroft prepared three glasses then smiled. "First of all I got you out of therapy, so no need to worry about that."

Sherlock nodded. "Why Mycroft that was decent of you. Thank you."

Mycroft ignored Sherlock's mocking tone. "Have you ever heard of Rosicrucianism?"

Sherlock was the first to answer. "You mean the secret society founded in the 16th century by Christian Rosenkreuz?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes. Well, I am sure you are aware of their experiments in alchemy."

Sherlock sniffed. "Of course I am, who isn't?"

Mycroft continued on. "As you know the Rosicrucian's believe that the esoteric nature of our universe could be revealed to man in such a way that would enable an individual or individuals to manipulate the physical universe."

John looked confused. "What? I don't understand."

Sherlock ignored John. "Mycroft continue, I will explain it to John later."

Mycroft nodded. "There is an old legend that an ancient text exists that would enable man to turn simple dust into gold and to transmute his essence into a threefold manifestation."

Mary interrupted this time. "That sounds like some kind of fairy tale. You like Grimm's fairy tales."

Sherlock and John both said, "NO," in unison.

Mycroft's glare silenced any more unwanted comments. "Mary, there was a secret society that practiced alchemy from the 1500's through 1600's, the Order at this time was said to consist of no more than eight members, each was a doctor and a confirmed bachelor. We have sufficient evidence that the order has re banded and possesses knowledge that could potentially alter our world. John, that's where you fit into the mission, you are a single doctor. We want you to infiltrate their society."

John protested. "Wait, a minute, Mary and I are still married."

Mycroft looked over at Mary. "Mary, you didn't tell him?"

John looked frantic. "Tell me what?"

Mary's voice was gentle; it had the same tone of softness that she used to comfort John through his grief over Sherlock's death. "John, I had papers drawn up. I am divorcing you."

Mycroft ignored the stricken look on John's face. "So, that settle's it. Are you all three ready for a trip to Prague?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed watching John pack. There was something hypnotic about the way John moved that never ceased to fascinate Sherlock. John, feeling Sherlock's gaze turned around.

"Sherlock, why are you staring? Sherlock, what's wrong?" John's voice had a hard edge to it. It was the kind of hardness that loved ones of persons with addictive personalities used when faced with the possibility that something terrible was going to happen again.

Sherlock observed the tone of John's voice and kept silent. He wanted to tell John that every move he made was a source of excitement. John could be bringing in groceries, taking out the trash, or just sitting around in his robe and Sherlock found each movement that John made was as thrilling as any steps a dancer performed. Instead of voicing any of the thoughts that he was thinking, Sherlock pushed himself off the bed and started to leave the room.

John stopped packing and moved towards Sherlock. "Sherlock, you can tell me what is it?"

Sherlock wanted to tell John that he didn't want him to go on the assignment in Prague. He wanted to tell John that his chest felt heavy every time he contemplated John's being in danger. He wanted to …he wanted to…. Sherlock turned to leave the room, but John's steely grip on his arm held Sherlock in place.

"Sherlock, you need to tell me what's going on. I'm not clairvoyant you know."

Sherlock smiled. "John, I am rubbing off on you. When I first met you would never have used the word clairvoyant to describe your inability to penetrate the human mind. You most likely would have said something like; I'm not a mind reader you know."

John let go of Sherlock's arm. "Oh, for God's sake I have no idea what you are trying to say, however I'm fairly certain it has nothing to do with my vocabulary, or lack thereof."

Sherlock moved closer to John and everything that he was going to say just simply vanished away, so Sherlock just leaned forward and pulled John into an embrace. When his lips met John's, it was as if a bolt of electricity shot through his entire body. Sherlock, frantically reached for John's shirt, as he ripped it open, buttons flew everywhere.

"Sherlock that was a brand new shirt." John exclaimed. Sherlock, didn't answer as he ran his hands over John's bare chest. John gasped. "Sherlock, I don't care about the bloody shirt." John then began to return Sherlock's kisses. John had always loved kissing; however, with Sherlock it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Sherlock's tongue explored every square inch of John's mouth, only stopping once in a while to catch his breath. Sherlock unbuckled John's pants and with one downward motion, John's pants and underwear were draped around his ankles.

A few moments later John lay naked on the bed. Sherlock's gazed lingered first on John's face, and then slowly he visually took in the rest of John's body. John's face flushed under the scrutiny.

"Sherlock, I' m getting a little self-conscious here. Are you going to join me or just window shop?"

Sherlock climbed on the bed; still fully clothed he straddled himself over John and began to kiss him. Gradually, Sherlock's clothes came off one by one until he was naked as well. For a moment Sherlock lay on top of John and held him tight, and then it was if he came to life after a long sleep. Sherlock's hands and mouth were everywhere. John marveled at how Sherlock knew every erogenous spot on his body. Sherlock didn't just make love to John; he consumed him physically and mentally. John sighed with pleasure after climaxing. After making love to Sherlock, John always fell into a deep sleep, however, this time he fought to stay awake. Sherlock turned his head sideways, so that he could listen to John's heartbeat.

John squirmed in order to find a comfortable position. Sherlock was getting heavy. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"John, be quiet. I am listening to your heartbeat." Sherlock's voice was tense and commanding.

"Well, Doctor do I pass the test?" John chuckled.

Sherlock sighed. "I just don't want you having another heart episode."

John sat up. "Sherlock, for God's sake it was only a mild heart episode. I'm fine. Now why don't you tell me what is really bothering you? You've been cagey all day."

Sherlock stared back at John. His emotions were so chaotic. How was he to tell John, that for the first time in his life Sherlock felt real fear? What if something happened to John? What if he, Sherlock were not able to rescue him? What if he and John were separated? The uncertainty of the future tormented Sherlock."

John gently took Sherlock's arm. "Sherlock, talk to me. What is bothering you?"

Sherlock moved himself even closer to John. "John, you are my kryptonite."

John smoothed his hand over Sherlock's wet curls. "Sherlock, Sherlock, I think you are finally feeling what it means to be vulnerable. Welcome to the human race." John rubbed the tenseness out of Sherlock's shoulders and then lay back on a pillow. He tried to fight the urge to fall asleep, but eventually exhaustion overtook John and as he rested Sherlock watched him sleep. Confetti came in a few moments later and jumped on the bed. Sherlock listened to the small breathing sounds that John and Confetti made as they slept. Around dawn, Sherlock finally drifted off to sleep.

Mycroft and Mary arrived at the flat bright and early the next morning. Sherlock's mind felt foggy from loss of sleep. He barely remembered giving Mrs. Hudson instructions on how to feed Confetti, before they were whisked away to the airport in Mycroft's limo.

John often thought that more people would enjoy flying if they went in a private plane. Jesus, the inside of Mycroft's jet was like a living room. Sherlock spouted out non-stop facts and figures about Prague as he swiveled back and forth in his chair. John could tell that Sherlock was fighting exhaustion and that soon he would need to wind down.

"Sherlock, you're making me dizzy with all the swirling around." John complained.

Sure enough Sherlock stopped swirling in his chair and flopped down on the floor in a pout. However, within five minutes he was asleep. John smiled to himself. Like a hyperactive child, Sherlock had finally worn himself out.

John marveled at the sights and sounds of Prague. It had not been bombed extensively during WWII, so many of the buildings were hundreds of years old. Mary had been sent to contact an old business associate to gain the supplies they needed and Sherlock and John were to meet their contact in the ancient Jewish cemetery. The Jewish cemetery in Prague is one the oldest cemeteries in the world. There at least twelve burial levels to the cemetery, which made the tombstones, look like the jagged layers of a shark's teeth. John shivered. "What a creepy place." John whispered to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, but didn't answer. The moon was full and illuminated everything in the cemetery, leaving no place for Sherlock and John to hide. "What a perfect place for a ghost story." John mused.

Sherlock whirled around. "For God's sakes John, be quiet I can't think while you are nattering on."

John was about ready to reply when a dark figure emerged beside them. He motioned for them to follow him and soon they were winding their way further into the city. John tried to make a mental note of landmarks, but finally gave up. "This place is like a maze," John thought warily. Their guide finally stopped in front of one of the long tall structures that must have housed thousands of Jewish people before WWII. The streets that had once been full of happy children were now silent and empty. A whisper of wind blew through the street, ruffling John's hair. He stood still for a moment, willing the foreboding of death to pass over him.

"John, come on", Sherlock whispered as they followed their guide into the lower level of the house. The inside of the small apartment was just as dismal as the outside. Everything was maintained, however, the spirit of heaviness that John had felt outside had drifted inside as well. Only when they were safely inside with the door shut did their guide speak.

"My name is Sherwin," he said as he shook Sherlock's hand and then John's. "Dr. Watson, I can't thank you enough for your service to the order. Something is terribly wrong and we need another person on the inside besides me."

John nodded. "Mycroft briefed us on the situation. However, I'm not sure how plausible it's going to be with Sherlock and Mary here. That is just too much of a coincidence for anyone to swallow."

Sherwin nodded. "I agree that's why you are going to tell the truth when I introduce you to the order." Sherwin then walked over to the sink, washed his hands and offered Sherlock and John a cup of tea.

Sherlock leaned forward. "Our cover story is that we are investigating the theft of some of the gold garments of the little infant of Prague."

John leaned forward. "How do we know you are telling the truth?"

Sherlock observed Sherwin. "He is telling the truth. The dark circles under his eyes suggest that he had been having trouble sleeping. The fact that his eyes are not dulled in luster suggests that his insomnia stems from an emotional upset, rather than a physical illness. The cuticles around his nail beds have been chewed which would also indicate that he is very nervous. The fact that he has made direct eye contact, his pupils have not dilated, and he has not had to think about his replies would suggest that he is telling the truth. His hands appear to be overly dry which would further suggest that he washes them often, as a Doctor would. After washing his hands he held them up like so." Sherlock held his hands out with palms up to demonstrate. "Combine that with the fact that the medical degree hanging on your wall is written on parchment stationary that is only used on Oxford Diplomas. Oh and I also recognize the dean's signature. All of these indicators point to the fact that he is the genuine article."

Sherwin looked over at John. "My God, that was remarkable. Is he always so outrageously spot on?"

John grinned. "Yep, pretty much."

Sherwin shook his head in amazement and continued with his story. "Anyway I think honesty is the best policy with the members of the order. The only thing we will not tell them is that I summoned for help. We are meeting tonight, so John do you feel up to it?"

Before John could answer Sherlock stood. "He is going in so soon? We just got here and well maybe John should adjust to the climate before he goes running off in the night."

John patted Sherlock on the back. "It's alright, Sherlock. The sooner we can get this wrapped up, the sooner we can go home."

They finished their tea and stood huddled outside of Sherwin's apartment. Sherlock wanted to throw his arms around John and beg him not to go, instead he just signaled John with his eyes like he had so many times before. The expression conveyed that he would stand by John at any cost. Then before he knew it John and Sherwin disappeared into the inky blackness of the night. John was gone. Sherlock stood for a few moments controlling his breathing, and then he made his way back to the hotel where he and Mary were staying.


	3. Chapter 3

As Sherlock made his way back to the hotel, he was glad that he had studied the layout of the city before they left London. Though Prague was picturesque, a person would not want to get lost in those dark winding streets. If Sherlock had been a superstitious person he would have sworn the city was haunted. As, he pulled his jacket around him and flipped up the collar Sherlock felt a little pang in his stomach as he thought of how John used to laugh at the dramatic way he wrapped his coat around him with the collar up. John. Each step Sherlock made took him further away from John. This was a new sensation, for Sherlock had never missed anyone before, except for Redbeard of course.

Sherlock had never felt so cold, and it was with great relief that he stood in front of his hotel. The structure had most likely been built in the 18th Century and the light from its cheerful windows beckoned Sherlock to safety. Quickly he went inside and ran up the stairs to his room. Slipping his card key in the lock, Sherlock opened the door. Mary stood all in black as she pointed a gun at him and Sherlock had no doubt the safety wasn't on.

"If you're going to shoot, do it," Sherlock said wearily as he flopped down on a bed.

Mary stood for a moment, and then put the gun away. "You are going to have to text me before you open the door, or I just might accidently shoot you." For moment Mary stared off in the distance, fantasizing about bullet hole through Sherlock's heart. She sighed John would never forgive her. "You need to get dressed, Sherlock. We are going to meet our target at the ballet."

"The ballet?" Sherlock queried.

Mary stared at Sherlock like he was an idiot. "Yes, you know the ballet, where people dance. Jeannie told me you love dancing, so hurry up."

Sherlock thought he might refuse, but then one look from Mary silenced him. The ballet was Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. At any other time Sherlock would have enjoyed the haunting music, however, it's eerie foreshadowing for the doomed lovers only made Sherlock feel uneasy. At the break he and Mary were to go out for a smoke, and that's where their contact would be. Sherlock smoked an entire cigarette before he finally whispered to Mary. "Where the hell is he?" As if in answer to his question a small, pale frightened man made his way in their direction. He walked up to Sherlock.

"Do, you have an extra cigarette?" he asked casually.

Sherlock nodded and handed him a cigarette. The man drew in a few breaths before he spoke.

"Has Doctor Watson already gone to join the order?" The man quickly looked around as he said it.

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, what does that have to do with the Little Infant of Prague?"

The man sighed with exasperation. "You have got to get him out of there. He is in terrible danger. The clothing that was stolen from the Little Infant is only a portion of the puzzle. The transmutation of Mori…." The man's voice trailed off as a bullet struck him in the throat. He tried to speak, but only gurgling sounds came out. Mary pulled out her gun looking around, then she grabbed Sherlock and they ran. Sherlock could hear sirens in the distance and he couldn't help thinking about the time he and John ran through London handcuffed together. As desperate as the situation had been, Sherlock had loved the feel of John's hand in his.

He and Mary ran through the streets of Prague, only when Mary was sure they weren't being followed did they stop to catch their breath. Sherlock's lungs felt like they were burning as he gasped for more air. Mary was barely out of breath. She glanced over at Sherlock in irritation. "Are you ready to move? We can't go back to our hotel, it's not safe. We are going to have to find another way to keep in contact with John."

Sherlock felt like he was out of the loop and he didn't like it. "Mary, explain please."

Mary sighed. "Well, as you know one of the outfits of the Little Infant of Prague was stolen. It was one of the oldest outfits, one which was said to have gold threads woven in it. These threads are said to have been made from the gold of Solomon's mines. Many years ago the Rosicrucian's believed that this particular gold had magical properties in it that could assist the alchemists in achieving transmutation."

Sherlock was wrapping his head around the facts. 'Transmutation, what sort of transmutation, from dust to gold?"

Mary locked eyes with Sherlock. "No, it wasn't for the transmutation of gold. It was for transmutation of the human body."

Sherlock looked away from Mary for a moment. The contact had been about to say something about transmutation. Mori… Sherlock and Mary didn't say it aloud, however, the implication hung between them like a deadly spider. Mori…MORIARTY.

John followed his guide through the dark streets, eventually they came to a synagogue, and Sherwin led John to a door. Sherwin then turned to John. "John, I have to blind fold you from here on out."

John was beginning to feel he was part of some cultic nightmare; however, he nodded his head in acquiesce as Sherwin slipped a blind fold over his eyes. John had never been good at trust exercises and this one was particularly daunting, as Sherwin led him through a maze of turns and steps. Eventually, they came to a stop and Sherwin removed the blind fold. John blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light. The room was nothing like he expected. His thoughts must have shown on his face.

Sherwin laughed. "Are you disappointed Dr. Watson? Did you think there would be men with dark robes and a sacrificial virgin on a candle lit slab in the middle of the room?"

John chuckled. "Call me John, and yes I thought the room would be a little more atmospheric." John looked around him; the work area appeared to be just a basic science lab. Computers, beakers and containers crowded the sterile looking tables throughout the lab. Sherwin introduced to John to the six other inhabitants of the room. Once the introductions were out of the way, Sherwin showed John to a small room with a cot.

"I am sorry the accommodations are not more spacious." Sherwin apologized.

John waved him off. "They look a damn site better than the ones I had in Afghanistan."

Sherwin looked relieved, and then he paused. "John, you have not been swore into the order yet, so you will need to stay in the living quarters. For now the lab is off limits to you. Oh, and I'm sure your cell phone won't work down here, however, could you please had it over to me? You can have it back once you leave the complex. There is some reading material in your quarters and there is also a tablet with reading material on it in the kitchen." John nodded, then reluctantly handed over his phone. "Oh, and John, if you have weapons on you I will need those as well." John sighed and handed over his hand gun and a knife, he kept the small metal club he kept on him hidden in his shoe. After Sherwin left, John leaned back on his cot, wondering just what the hell he had gotten himself into this time.


	4. Chapter 4

John awoke with a start; he was sweating and breathing heavily. For a moment John was disorientated and then realized that he had been dreaming. The dream was a real dozy, it definitely trumped any nightmare that John had about Afghanistan in the past. John leaned back on his cot to try and remember the dream, so that he could analyze it. The dream had started out like this. John ran through darkened corridors in some sort of cave. The only light came from torches in the shape of skulls. John's legs were starting to ache and his chest felt like it was on fire and he knew that his pursuer would soon catch him. John finally stumbled and fell to his knees. A hand reached out and jerked him to his feet, it was Sherlock.

John blinked several times. "Sherlock, is that you?"

Sherlock smiled as he kissed John. Whenever Sherlock physically touched him, John always felt as if a bolt of electricity sizzled through his body. Sherlock's hands steadied John's back as the kiss consumed them both, then John gasped in horror, as he pulled back, it wasn't Sherlock he was kissing, and it was Moriarty.

Moriarty laughed as John struggled to disentangle himself from the firm grasp that held him tight. "John, I can see now what Sherlock sees in you. You are so responsive. Let me show you the difference between Sherlock and I. Sherlock is on the side of the angels, whereas I am well you know…I'm not.

John struggled as Moriarty forced him to the ground. "John, don't fight me. I am going to take you no matter what, so you might as well enjoy it." Moriarty held John's body tightly between his knees. He then pulled on John's ears, until John yelped. Once his mouth was open, Moriarty forced his tongue inside John's mouth. John tried to flip Moriarty, however, Moriarty just laughed. "Come on, John. You've fought hard enough to convince yourself you don't want this. Now stop or I will hurt you." John winced as Moriarty held his throat with one hand and with the other hand he ripped John's shirt open. John was starting to tire and he knew he wasn't a match for Moriarty's super human strength. John gasped as Moriarty unbuttoned his pants. "John, come on don't fight me. I can see you want this as much as I. Come on John, Jim wants to consume you. Let me burn the heart out of you." Tears of frustration and fear ran down John's cheeks, Moriarty was going to have his way, so John closed his eyes and tried to think of something else.

Reliving the dream made John sick at his stomach. "I am out of my depth," he whispered aloud to the empty room. The nightmare was so real that John looked down at his shirt to make sure it still had the buttons on it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked and saw that his shirt buttons were still intact. John knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so he stared up at the ceiling until he heard a soft tap on his door.

"John, are you awake?" A muffled voice from the other side of the door asked.

John opened the door and let Sherwin in. "I'm awake." John answered quietly.

Sherwin studied John's face. "John, are you alright? You look terrible. Maybe you just need something to eat and a shower."

John smiled sadly. "Yes, that must be it."

Sherwin handed John a sweatshirt and a pair of sweats and then pointed him in the direction of the shower. "When you're done come on in the kitchen and we'll have breakfast and discuss your upcoming nomination."

John nodded and then made his way to the shower. As John entered the bathroom, he checked everywhere to make sure there was no one else in the room, he then locked the door. For a moment John paused, and then he hesitantly took off his clothes and jumped in the shower. Even though John knew there was no one else in the room, he took the quickest shower of his life. John shivered he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He slipped on the sweats and then John made his way to the small kitchen. Sherwin was already eating some cereal and John felt a little disappointed, he was hoping for a more substantial breakfast. Then a terrible thought occurred to him, what if the order was into fasting?

As if reading his thoughts, Sherwin smiled. "Breakfast is a little sparse; however, dinner is a real treat. Once of the Doctors of the order is a superb cook."

John nodded absent mindedly. "Sure, that's fine."

Sherwin frowned. "John, are you sure you're alright? Did you sleep okay last night?"

John's head jerked up, and then he realized that Sherwin was just asking routine questions that anyone might ask a quest. John smiled. "Everything is fine. I just have a lot on my mind."

Sherwin nodded in understanding. "Don't worry about the induction ceremony. I don' think anyone will black ball you. There is a little tradition to the ceremony, however, I promise you that we don't make human sacrifices, or run around with goat's horns on our heads."

John was starting to relax. "Really, I was hoping for at least the goat horns."

Sherwin laughed. "No, sorry to disappoint you, John, however, I will be the one to guide you through the ceremony. Once you have been voted in, then your name will be called and I will step forward as your guide. I will blind fold you and guide you through the patterns, then your blindfold will be removed and you will pledge your honor to the order. I am going to give you a book to look over. It will explain some of the ceremony; however, the book must not leave the premises."

John nodded and took the book from Sherwin.

Sherwin got up to leave. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'll check back with you around lunch time." Sherwin then walked over to an intercom on the wall, if you have an emergency, just depress the button and someone will come straight away.

John licked his lips nervously. "What about my phone? Can I call someone to let them I'm alright?"

Sherwin fingered his chin. "John, I can't give you back your cell phone until you leave the premises. However, if you give me the number of the person, I will send them a text to verify that you are okay."

John didn't like the idea of being trapped, however, it wasn't as if he had a choice, so he sighed and gave Sherwin Sherlock's number. Once Sherwin left, John unenthusiastically finished his cereal and then took a look at the book Sherwin gave him. The book was small and unassuming from the outside; there was the snake and rod medical symbol on the front cover and nothing else. John opened the book. He almost expected some sort of magical dust to shower him as John turned to the first page; however, nothing of the sort happened. In fact, the book was pretty dull. The ceremony was laid out in detail, explaining each pattern the inductee would walk through and the verbal instructions that would take place. John felt that there was something familiar about the pattern, but he couldn't quite place it. John flipped to the end of the induction ceremony, nothing seemed strange or evil. The rest of the book was blotted out and John assumed that he would be able to peruse through the rest of the book after he has an official brother. Even though the contents of the book were blotted out, the titles of each chapter were not blotted out. Most of the titles related to medical procedures, things like Alchemy for Vision, Lungs, Various Diseases, John briefly thumbed through the titles until one caught his eye. It read, "Transmutation, Projection, and Simulated Death of the Human Body and Spirit." John felt his scalp prickle as he re-read the title. "Simulated Death of the Human Body and Spirit," John mused aloud. He felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled Moriarty's laugh from his nightmare.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Sherlock studied the images over and over on his laptop. "Damnit," he shouted and began to pace muttering to himself. Mary watched him without comment as she cleaned her gun. Sherlock racked his brain trying to figure out the connection between the outfits that were stolen from the Little Infant of Prague. The red from Christmas, the Gold from Easter, and the everyday Green Vestments were the ones that were missing. "There must be some connection," Sherlock whispered aloud. Ever since their contact with the Rosicrucian's had been killed, Sherlock had been on edge. Then yesterday he received a text from John's phone stating he was fine and that he could not make contact until after his initiation. Sherlock felt John was in terrible danger, however, the quickest way to help John was to figure what connection the missing Vestments had with Alchemy and Transmutation.

Mary looked up at Sherlock. "Sherlock, we have contacted Mycroft, and he has told us to wait for further instructions."

Sherlock rounded on Mary. "Mycroft could care less about John. If we wait for him, it could be too late." Sherlock's voice broke, betraying his anxiety.

Mary sighed. "Sherlock, do you think you are the only person who cares for John? If we don't follow Mycroft's instructions, John could be in more danger than he already is. For that matter, we don't even know he is in danger."

Sherlock could feel anger and frustration beginning to boil inside him. He wanted to scream and pound holes into the wall. Worry about the welfare of someone else was a new sensation for Sherlock. Maybe Mycroft was right about caring not being an advantage, after all he never felt this way until he started to care about John. "Care, hell, I'm in love with my Doctor." Sherlock mused. "No, caring is an advantage, Mycroft was wrong." Sherlock reflected as he began to scan his mind palace for the special place he reserved for his memories of John. Sherlock's chest began to feel tight, for in his mind palace John was there. Angry John, passionate John, brave John, John Hamish Watson, you are my love and I will find you with or without Mary and Mycroft's help. I will take on Hades itself to redeem you.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, SHERLOCK." Mary raised her voice in effort to catch Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock spun around. "What?" he snapped.

Mary sighed, "I just got a text from Mycroft, he's downstairs." Mary scrolled down further. "He says that we need to pack. He wants to put us in a safe house."

Sherlock whipped his head around to glare at Mary. "If Mycroft is taking us to a safe house, then John is in danger."

Sherlock and Mary packed quickly packed their things and ran downstairs to meet Mycroft. As, Mycroft came forward to meet them, he looked stressed. "Come on I'll update you in the car." Sherlock studied his brother's face and he knew that something had gone terribly wrong. Once they were in the car Mycroft took out a cigarette and lit up, he then reached in his pocket and handed one to Sherlock. He also held out a cigarette towards Mary. "Mary, would you like a cigarette?"

Mary shook her head. Both she and Sherlock waited for Mycroft to speak. Mycroft took a long drag on his cigarette. "As you know the contact that you were supposed to meet was shot. We found the other contact Sherwin, nailed to the front door of the Church of Our Lady Victorious, he had been tortured and his heart had been burned out." Mycroft took another long drag on cigarette. "We can't extract John that would only draw attention to the objective of the mission."

Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed Mycroft's wrist. "Fuck the mission; we need to get John out now."

Mycroft jerked his wrist free from Sherlock's grasp. "There is a lot more at stake, than your precious John, little brother. The safest action you can take for John is to get to the bottom of the mystery, which you won't be able to do if you let passion rule your head. Sherlock, get your head in the game. Solve the puzzle." Mycroft leaned back against the seat, he looked exhausted. No one said a word until they were in the safe house. The safe house was actually similar to Baker Street, except that downstairs was occupied by a security team, no Speedy's Café and no Mrs. Hudson. The safe house living quarters were located upstairs and Sherlock felt homesick as the wooden steps creaked under his weight. "Just like Baker Street," he thought. The living space was upstairs, it was sparsely decorated with two chairs and a table in the living room, the kitchen was a small nook off of the main room. Even though the room seemed empty it still reflected a hint of its formal elegance, through the floor length windows, and the ornate carved border around the ceiling. Without a word, Sherlock sat down and opened up his laptop. He studied the pictures of the vestments of the Little Infant, there had to be some sort of pattern besides the obvious one. "There has to be a pattern to these vestments, it is more than just a simple theft for the value, it must have something to do with the order. What, what is it?" Sherlock said as he began to pace the room. Sherlock's pacing reminded Mycroft of a caged lion he and Sherlock had seen at the zoo when they were children. Sherlock had stood outside the cage watching the lion, tears streaming down his childish plump cheeks.

Their mother had asked Sherlock what was wrong and Mycroft never forgot Sherlock's answer. "The Lion is alone and bored, he can't think."

Sherlock sat down and pounded the keys of his laptop. "What is it? Where is the pattern?"

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, I'm going to need you thinking straight, so that you can examine Sherwin's body. Mary, I am going to need you to interview the handler that had the last contact with Sherwin."

A Secret Morgue somewhere in Prague

Sherlock circled the table that Sherwin's body lay on. He examined the cuts that covered the body; however, it was the empty chest cavity that drew Sherlock's attention. There were strange looking burns around the chest cavity that Sherlock had never seen before. He bent closer, ignoring the smell of chemicals that assailed his nostrils. If was if the cut had been made by a laser, yet Sherlock had never seen a laser that made such perfect incisions. Sherlock bent down and smelled the area around Sherwin's mouth. "Just as I thought," Sherlock mused aloud. "The cuts on the body were made post mortem, due to the fact that they bled so heavily. However, it was not the cuts that killed Sherwin; he was drugged when the chest cavity was operated on. However, he was still alive when the heart was taken, due to the fact the aorta are fully open, which suggests that the blood was still flowing through them when the heart was removed. The man was drugged and then bled to death after the heart was cut away. However, I am not sure what kind of scalpel was used to do the surgery." Sherlock's mind was going a thousand miles per hour and for a moment he forgot the worry that was threatening to overtake him. What could have made that incision? Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. "Where are the items that were found on the body?" Mycroft came back a few minutes with a clear bag. Sherlock rifled through the contents of the bag. A wallet, nail clippers, pocket change, a money clip, and two iPhones. "Why two?" Sherlock asked to no one in particular. Sherlock turned the first phone on, it was locked. He then picked up the other phone and his whole heat sank so fast Sherlock felt dizzy. The other phone was John's. Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, trying to control his panicked expression. "This phone is John's," Sherlock whispered as he held up the phone. Sherlock put his hand up to his mouth like he always did when heavily stressed, as he wildly looked around the room, then his eye focused on a medical science poster. "Oh, my God, that's the pattern," Sherlock said as he pointed to the poster.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day as John sat eating his breakfast he wondered why he hadn't seen Sherwin, or anyone else for that matter. The crunching sound he was making while eating his cereal was the only sound in the room. John chewed then stopped, then chewed some more and stopped again. "Okay, time to stop playing making the cereal sound echo game. Where the hell was everyone?" John thought. Then another more terrifying thought crept into his mind. "What if they had all forgotten him down here? What if they had left him to starve?" John smiled and then laughed at himself. "I am creeping myself out just like I used to do with my sister when we were left alone in the house." John let his memory drift back to his tumultuous childhood. He and his sister had not had very many good times together. John sighed. As bad as his childhood was, he shuddered when he thought of how poor Sherlock had suffered. Just the thought of Sherlock made John's heart beat faster. "I miss you, Sherlock." John whispered aloud to the empty room.

Around lunch time, John heard the big heavy metal fire door creak open. He wasted no time and ran to see who it was. The young man that stood in front of John was not Sherwin. His eyes flitted around the room and he nervously kept pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and back. He finally held out a cold, clammy had for John to shake. "Hi, my name is Doctor Freed, however just call me Scott."

John shook hands and then introduced himself. "I'm Doctor Watson, or John." He smiled in an attempt to make the younger man more at ease. "So, what happened to Sherwin?" John asked.

Scott visibly paled, making his skin even more translucent than it already was. "Um he was called away on an emergency; I am going to get you ready for tonight."

John nodded as Scott led him through the heavy metal door into the darkened hallway. "Follow me, John. Keep close it's pretty easy to get lost down here. We are going to go to the library. I am sure you will enjoy it, for there are some ancient medical texts that you no doubt find fascinating." Scott seemed to relax a little as John made small talk. John tried to make note of the patterns they were making through the dimly lit hallways, but soon gave up the maze was too complicated for him to remember. John smiled as he thought that Sherlock would already have accurately counted each hallway and have committed them to memory by now.

The library was located behind another metal fire door. Scott put his thumb on an electronic device located near the handle and the door magically opened.

"Open Sesame, "John laughed. Scott just stared back at John as if he were speaking a foreign language. John shrugged and then followed Scott into the library. The light was so bright that John had to blink several times until his eyes made the adjustment. Though the room appeared to be illuminated from fluorescent bulbs, John had never seen a fluorescent bulb that had such a blue-green hue to them. John stood transfixed in an almost hypnotic trance as he gazed into the light.

Scott cleared his throat. "Um Doctor Watson…John?"

John jumped. "Oh, sorry it's just that those lights are so..humm I don't know…well spellbinding."

Scott nodded. "They are that color so that the books are protected. I'm not sure of the science behind it, however, they are beautiful. So are you ready for a little studying?"

John nodded eagerly. "I'm ready."

Scott took a deep breath. "The first thing that will happen is that I will lead you blind folded through a series of patterns. I will take your arm of the left side, then afterwards you will kneel in from of a stone alter. You will take your vows and then head Knight will take a sword and gently tap the left shoulder and then the right."

John laughed. "You've got to be kidding me. This sounds like something from Camelot or Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade."

Scott looked at John disapprovingly. "John, if you're not going to take this seriously then maybe…"

John interrupted. "No, I am sorry; it's just well been pretty intense."

Scott's blue eyes bored into John's. "I understand. If you are having second thoughts now is the time to tell me. Once you have taken the oath you will be committed."

John nodded. "I understand and I am not having second thoughts. It just kind of sounds like till death do us part."

Scott nodded back. "That's exactly what it means, John. Once you are committed, you are committed in this life and the next."

John clapped his hands together. "Then let's get to it."

There was very little memory work; there were just instructions that John would need to follow to the letter. After a few hours Scott took John back to his little cell for a rest before the ceremony.

A few hours later John looked at himself in the mirror, he felt ridiculous in the black robe. It was a beautiful piece of work, all silk and so black it glowed with a blue tint, however he still felt silly in it and per instructions John had nothing on under the robe except underwear. A soft tap on his door prevented John from indulging in further speculation. The door opened and Scott stood there with a glittering torch in his hand. He was also in a black robe. John thought that the fire lit torch was a touch dramatic, however he didn't voice his opinion as he and Scott wound their way through the maze.

Outside the initiation chamber Scott gently put a blindfold over John's eyes as he was led into the chamber. A voice from the darkness spoke, "Brother Scott, why do you seek entrance to the chamber?"

Scott answered. "I come here with John Watson, who seeks to be a brother."

The anonymous voice then asked. "John Watson, are you here of your own free will and do you seek entrance to the order."

John's voice sounded far away in his own ears. "What you say is true."

"Then welcome John Watson. Your guide will take you through the dangers of the maze. Follow him to safety and the brotherhood." The voice echoed in John's mind. There was something so familiar about it.

John wasn't given any time to speculate for Scott had already taken John's arm and was gently guiding him in an intricate pattern. There wasn't a sound as John took his cues from Scott. "This is a trust exercise nightmare," John thought as he let himself be led. Finally, they stopped and Scott took off John's blindfold. John slipped off his robe and kneeled before the stone alter. A man stood on the other side of the altar with a hood pulled over his head. When he spoke John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"John Watson, you have undertaken the task of a Rosicrucian brother. By swearing your allegiance, you agree to serve the order in this life and the next. You also swear by pain of death that you will never reveal the secrets of alchemy that you will be given. By agreeing to this you will forever be one of us. Do you so agree?"

John swallowed. "I do so agree."

The robed figure then took a sword and gently tapped each of John's shoulders. "Welcome, Brother John." Then he stepped down from the altar and picked up John's discarded robe and wrapped it around John.

The other brothers came and gathered around John and congratulated him. John looked back over his shoulder to where the hooded figure stood. As if reading his mind the figure came forward and stood in front of John. He was so close that John could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Well, at least he's human," John thought in relief. John could barely hear the hooded figure's next words. "Brother John, pull back my hood," he commanded.

John hesitantly reached up and pulled the hood back. All the blood drained from John's face, as he sank to the ground. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the smiling face of Moriarty. "John, did you miss me?"

John tried to sit bolt upright and realized he was chained to the floor. For a moment he couldn't remember how he got there and then he remembered the evil face of Moriarty laughing at him. John jerked at the chain, it was a useless gesture, but John pulled with all of his might on the chain. He gasped with pain as he fell over on the other side of the sleeping pallet. "Oh God," John screamed aloud to the empty cell. John had made things worse for himself. He had shortened the length of the chain so that the links cut into his skin. John knew he had to control his breathing or he was going to hyperventilate. He tried to hold perfectly still because every time John moved the metal chains sliced more skin off. For the next couple of hours John drifted in and out of consciousness. He barely noticed when his prison door opened.

"Get in here and get him out of these chains and bring me a first aid kit. Do it quickly or I will make you watch while I disembowel you." Moriarty screamed. A few moments John felt the metal clamps release his ankles. Moriarty came over and effortlessly picked up John and put him on the sleeping pallet. John tried not to whimper when Moriarty washed his wounds and then bandaged them. Moriarty then lay down next to John on the pallet. He reached out and stroked the side of John's face.

"My poor John, I will punish them for hurting you." Moriarty spoke softly.

John could feel his heart pounding. "Was this going to be like his dream? Was Moriarty going to rape him?"

Moriarty smiled. "John, my pet I can read you like a book." Moriarty then rolled himself on top of John holding him tight. Moriarty then bent his head down beside John's and took a deep breath. He nuzzled John's unshaven face and whispered into his ear. "John, I would never take you unwillingly. When I take you, you will be mine. Together we will rule the world. You will see in time that I am no different from your precious Sherlock, we are the same."

"I will never submit to you. I will die first." John spat.

The expression on Moriarty's face surprised John. It was full of grief and sadness. "John, I may be on the side of the demons, but I am not one of them. I will find a more comfortable place for you to reflect on your situation, until then rest." Moriarty then gently kissed John's ear.


	7. Chapter 7

John wrapped the thin blanket around him. Cold, it was so cold, and so silent and dark. John found himself wishing for Moriarty to come back, at least it would be someone to talk to. Finally John curled up under the blanket and tried to get some sleep. When he next woke up Moriarty was bending over him.

"John, can you hear me? You must be running a fever, you are so warm. I've got to get you out of here." Without another word Moriarty picked up John and slung him gently over his shoulder.

When John finally regained consciousness, he was so confused. "Where am I?" John thought as he sat up. He was in a bedroom, and a very nice one judging from the brocade curtains that surrounded the bed. John pulled the covers up and noticed that he was wearing silk pajamas. "Well, at least I'm not naked," John mused. Cautiously, John pulled back the bed curtains and peeked out. The room was beautiful, old books filled floor to ceiling shelves, the room was dimly lit but no so that one couldn't read if one wanted to. Persian carpets covered the floor, a desk stood in one corner, and it stood opposite a beautiful Louis the 16th blue couch. In the corner Moriarty sat at a piano playing the second movement from Mozart's Piano Concerto #23; his face had a peaceful look on it that John had never seen before. For a moment John let the magic of the music wash over him. How could someone so evil reproduce the music of Mozart with such purity, such honesty?

Moriarty stopped playing and smiled at John. He was wearing a blue T-Shirt and black jeans, his raven black hair was ruffled, making him look much younger than John had first imagined. "John, how are you feeling?" Moriarty got up from the piano and switched on some music that blared from the entertainment system, the song was Mama, from The Black Parade, by My Chemical Romance. Moriarty marched and sang, "Mama we all go to hell." The volume of the music was so loud that John covered his ears. For a moment it appeared that Moriarty didn't even know that John was in the room. The next song to play was Losing You, by Dead by April. Moriarty screamed out the lyrics with such force that he soon lost his voice. Seeing John's discomfort Moriarty walked over and turned down the volume of the sound system. The next song was Capricious Horses sung by Vysotsky. Moriarty sang the Russian words softly and then he went over to a 19th century oak paneled bar and poured himself a drink. "John, would you like a drink?"

John shook his head. How could someone switch gears so quickly and then John thought of Sherlock. Sherlock could. Thinking of Sherlock gave John a burst of courage. "How long are you going to keep me here before you kill me?" John asked softly.

Moriarty looked horrified. "Jesus, John, I have no attention of killing you. I want you to share in my discoveries. John, I love you, I would do anything for you."

John crossed the room in a couple of strides and stood in front of Moriarty. "Then let me go, please."

Moriarty clasped his hands behind his back to keep John from seeing how hard they shook. "I can't let you go, John, at least not yet. Come over here I want to show you something on the computer."

John's face was so pale and wan, that Moriarty began to worry. "Never mind, John, you don't look well." Moriarty reached up and touched John's forehead. "I think you are still running a fever, go back to bed. Don't worry I'll take the couch. You know I wasn't always this way," Moriarty whispered shyly.

John swallowed and then looked down at the ground; the sadness in Moriarty's eyes confused him. Moriarty was his enemy and John must never forget that. A wave of nausea overcame John and he sank to the floor and began to vomit. Moriarty rushed to his side and grabbed a blanket off of the bed. Gently Moriarty steadied John's head as he dry heaved into the blanket. John stood up and let Moriarty lead him back to bed. "John, you see, even though the darkness has taken my soul, I still reflect a flicker of light now and then." Moriarty said as he helped John get into bed and under the covers. Moriarty smiled knowingly as he picked up a damp cloth on the nightstand so he could bathe John's forehead. "You see, John, individuals like Sherlock and I can't lose the ones we love. If we do it burns that heart out of us, it makes us evil and dark. However, John you are light, you are not just on the side of the angels, you are an angel. Grief tears you down, but it does not rot your soul. You would never give in to the darkness. Now get some rest and I will give you answers when you are well. John, I feel so tired sometimes, that I wish that I had blown my brains out on the top of St. Bart's. I know your heart belongs to Sherlock and that I will never be able to possess an angel like yourself. You know John; I loved a girl named Anna when I was a child. She was stuck down by a car trying to save me. When she died in my arms my whole world went black. Once you have crossed the line of darkness like I have, there is no redemption."

John looked up into Moriarty's dark eyes. "I don't believe that. I believe that everyone can be redeemed."

Moriarty laughed and sat down on the bed next to John. "John, you are such a child," Moriarty whispered as he bent down and kissed John's jaw. "I want to make you mine. I want to consume you and I want that consumption to take a hold of you like a raging fire." Moriarty leaned forward and slid his hand across John's chest as he buried his face in John's neck. "John, you undo me. You know it will be you that destroys me, not Sherlock."

John tried to squirm away from Moriarty in an effort to keep his body from responding to the physical stimuli. "God, Moriarty sure knew which buttons to push", John thought.

Moriarty sighed and angrily pushed himself off of the bed. "Goodnight, John." A few moments later Moriarty came back with some juice and two aspirin. "John, take these, don't worry they're just aspirin."

John held out his hand and obediently took the aspirin. "Thank you, Moriarty," he mumbled.

Moriarty paused and then turned around to look back at John. "Please call me, Jim." Without another word Moriarty quietly left the room.

Sherlock pointed to the Human DNA chart on the wall. "Don't you see that's the pattern?"

Mycroft and Mary glanced at each other in confusion. Mycroft was the first to speak. "Explain, Sherlock."

"The DNA pattern can't you see? My God how can you both be so stupid?" Sherlock hissed. "That's the same pattern as the Gold Weaving in the little infant of Prague's vestments. Take the gold from vestments and put them together and it is the Alpha sign. Do a 3D projection of those same patterns and it is the Human DNA helix. You can see it now can't you?"

"Sherlock, we can both see it now, however what does it mean?" Mary snapped.

Sherlock paced around the room and fingered his jaw and then his head shot up so quickly that Mary was surprised that he didn't get whiplash from the quick, jerky movement.

"Mycroft, Mary, we are looking at the ancient formula for transmutation of the human body. Every religion has a transmutation theory. The Rosicrucian's belief was not just a metaphysical one; it was a scientific theory as well. It is a way to astral project the body in more than one place at the same time." Sherlock whispered.

"So, how does it work, little brother?" Mycroft drawled.

For the first time Sherlock looked lost. "I don't know. I am going to have to study it. There's one thing for certain, we need to get John out of there as soon as possible. If this transmutation formula is for real, it could explain how Moriarty appeared to blow his brains out on top of St. Bart's Hospital, and then reappear only to mock us on every English Television. It could explain many things." Sherlock mused.

Back at the safe house, Sherlock glanced at the computer in front of him. Every time he thought he was going to crack the transmutation code, another problem would blow his theory apart. "Damn it," Sherlock swore, making Mycroft and Mary jump. Sherlock began to pace and swear. He finally stopped in front of Mycroft. "We have to get John; I can't solve this without him." Sherlock whispered in defeat.

Mary rolled her eyes and was surprised at Mycroft's answer. "Perhaps, you're right little brother, we'll send in a team tomorrow."

Sherlock reached out and grabbed Mycroft's arm. "No, I want him rescued tonight."

Mycroft looked to Mary for support. "Sherlock, I'm not letting you in on the rescue attempt. You are emotionally compromised."

Sherlock knew that Mycroft was correct; as he slammed his laptop shut and stormed out of the room.


	8. Chapter 8

John stared at the computer screen in fascination as Moriarty pointed out certain points on a 3D projection of a Human DNA chain. As Moriarty spoke John felt less lonely and in the back of his mind John knew he was starting to identify with his captor. In the military he had been trained to deal with Stockholm syndrome; however nothing could prepare an individual for the situation John was in. As the days passed John felt that perhaps Moriarty was not as bad as everyone had first thought. As if in answer to his mental meanderings Moriarty began to rub the tension out of John's neck muscles. It felt so good that John almost laid his head down on the table and began to drool. When John didn't pull away Moriarty put his arms around John as he rubbed his hands over John's thin T-Shirt. When John felt his nipples start to harden he jumped up out of the chair and angrily stormed across the room in frustration. The longing for another's touch was becoming a need that John couldn't ignore much longer.

John went into the bathroom turned the cold water on in the sink and let it run over his warm neck. Moriarty stood in the doorway smiling as he watched John. The bathroom didn't have any doors, so Moriarty was able to watch John at his leisure. So, far Moriarty had given John his privacy in the bathroom, today was the only exception. Finally John turned off the water and straightened up and shouted. "Isn't bad enough that you keep me a prisoner? Am I not to have any alone time in the bathroom either?" The water from John's wet hair ran down his neck and onto his shirt. Moriarty stopped smiling and swallowed as the water soaked through the front of John's shirt making it transparent.

Moriarty eye's glazed over in lust as he let them linger on John's chest. "God, John," he gasped as he took a step forward. John backed up slowly to keep his personal space free. However, John was no match for Moriarty. Grabbing him by the waist Moriarty backed John into the wall and began to forcibly kiss him. John could feel the hardening tightness in the front of Moriarty's jeans as he rubbed up against him. Moriarty bit John's lower lip playfully and then broke away panting, "Get out, John now. Leave me."

John slid out of Moriarty's grasp and began to pace in the small kitchenette. He had been so close to giving into Moriarty's advances that John pounded the counter of the kitchen sink in frustration. "God, Sherlock where are you? Please help me. I am starting to lose my grip on reality," John thought as he licked the blood from his lower lip where Moriarty had bit him. Moriarty's living space was one enormous room with a small bathroom and kitchenette. There was only one bed that Moriarty had let John have, as he slept on the couch. John made his way to the bed and sat down at the edge. Tears fell from his eyes as he buried his head in his hands. "How am I going to survive this?" John thought in despair.

A few minutes later Moriarty strode into the room with the dreaded handcuffs. Every time he left his quarters he handcuffed John to a metal pole in the center of the room. "I need to go out," Moriarty said softly as John let himself be led to the pole. John had tried to escape several times only to be shocked senseless with some sort of electrical stun device that Moriarty always had on him. Meekly John made his way to the pole he just wasn't up to being mildly electrocuted today. Moriarty kept his head averted from John's gaze as John held out his hands to be cuffed. John was surprised that instead of the cold hard metal cuffs, Moriarty handcuffed him with black fur covered ones. Moriarty kept his head down as he spoke softly. "John, I noticed the metal cuffs were starting to cut into your wrists, so I got these."

John nodded in appreciation. "Thank you," he answered. John was surprised that when Moriarty lifted up his head, his face was red, blotchy and tear stained. "Moriarty is human. He seems to care for me. Maybe I misjudged him," John thought in confusion as Moriarty turned to leave.

Once he was alone, John sat with his back against the pole and tried to think of something else. He moved his neck around in a semi-circle in an attempt to break up the tension. John then let his mind drift to he and Moriarty's scientific discussion that had taken place earlier that day.

Earlier in the Day

John studied the elements on the computer screen in front of him and thought that Sherlock would have appreciated its merits more than he. It's too bad that Moriarty was a maniacal psychopath, for he and Sherlock thought so much alike.

"John, are you paying attention?" Moriarty snapped.

John sighed. "Yes, yes Gold is a Transition metal on the periodic table of elements and is one of the purest metals there is. The transmutation of lead into gold can be achieved by a particle accelerator using electrical and or magnetic fields for the transmutation process."

Moriarty clapped his hands together. "Very good, yes John."

"Whatever, you are still not explaining how this transmutation applies to the human body." John snapped. He didn't like being patronized.

Moriarty giggled and leaned over John to grab the wireless mouse that sat to the right of the computer keyboard. Wiggling the mouse back and forth Moriarty moved on to the next screen as soon as he saw the cursor. He typed in several commands as the DNA string from one part of the screen doubled itself into another part of the screen. "You see, John, our entire universe came into being through transmutation, and I have discovered a way to create a spark from one individual's DNA, which in turn allows that individual's DNA to transmutation to another dimension or plane without disrupting the original location of the individual's body. Do you see now how I appeared to Sherlock on the roof top of St. Bart's?" Moriarty eye's appeared black as he excitedly rubbed his hands together.

John frowned. "I don't understand."

Moriarty knelt down on the ground, took a hold of the office chair John was sitting in and wheeled John around to face him. "John, it's alright. Let's take a break." Moriarty said as he suggestively eyed John's crotch.

"Jesus, you have a one track mind, don't you?" John growled.

Moriarty shrugged his shoulders. "John, what are you taking about? Did I say something wrong?" Moriarty asked innocently as he widened his eyes.

John opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and waved Moriarty off as he stormed into to the little kitchen. Moriarty's laughter followed him and John wanted to shut him up permanently.

John yawned and brought his thoughts back to the present. "God, I'm tired," John thought as he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later John jerked awake when he felt Moriarty releasing him from the handcuffs. "God, I have to pee," John thought as he rubbed circulation back into his wrists.

"Sorry, I didn't think I would be gone so long," Moriarty mumbled.

John looked over a Moriarty and noticed a long cut on the side of his neck, his face was bruised and his once perfectly ironed shirt was torn in several places. "Hey, what happened?" John asked as his medical instincts took over. Someone had worked Moriarty over pretty good. "Here, let me take a look at that cut," John said as he stepped closer to Moriarty.

"John, leave it alone. I'll heal. I have certain needs too you know." Moriarty said as he sulked over to the sink in the kitchen to wash up.

John's face flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, I see, well I'll leave you to it then." John said as he awkwardly walked over to the desk. "God, this is weird," John thought as he wondered why Moriarty didn't have more individual rooms in his living quarters. It made it difficult to storm into another room when there wasn't another room to storm into.

With his head down Moriarty made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. "Oh, Jesus that hurts, "Moriarty gasped as he took off his damaged shirt.

"This better not be a trick," John thought as he ran towards the bathroom.

Moriarty sat on the floor rocking back and forth as he clutched his stomach. John sucked in his breath when he saw the bloody marks on Moriarty's back. Moriarty submitted passively to John's examination of his neck, back, and chest. "I'm going to need to stitch some of these wounds up." John said grimly as he attempted to staunch the blood from a particularly deep cut on Moriarty's back. Moriarty lay still as John put pressure on the deepest wound

Moriarty pointed to a cabinet. "There's a first aid kit in there," he whispered.

John washed out the wounds and stitched up two of the worst injuries. Moriarty remained silent until John was finished with his first aid treatments. John then helped Moriarty up. "You can take a full shower later. Just wash up now. Do you need help getting undressed?" To his surprise Moriarty shook his head no as his liquid brown eyes bored into John's. John nodded. "Alright then, I'll take the couch tonight." As Moriarty softly thanked John, John thought that he would much rather have the evil Moriarty back. For seeing Moriarty vulnerable made John feel as if he had fallen down a rabbit hole into an alternate universe where he didn't know the rules.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock slammed Mycroft against the wall shouting, "Are you saying that MI 6 doesn't know where John is? Answer me, Mycroft, "Sherlock yelled as he slammed Mycroft against the wall again.

Mycroft pulled himself out of Sherlock's grasp. "You are not thinking clearly, Sherlock. Perhaps, it's time for a cigarette."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he glared at Mycroft. There was something that Mycroft was holding back, something bad. Sherlock took a deep breath, "Mycroft, what aren't you telling me?"

Mycroft looked away from Sherlock's intense gaze and then pulled out his iPhone. Mycroft moved his finger over the front of the iPhone and then stopped. "Sherlock, I am going to show you a photo of a crime scene. I know how you love violence; however prepare yourself for these images are particularly gruesome."

Sherlock's hand shook as he jerked the phone away from Mycroft's hand. The photo was of a murder scene, five men lay dead on a blood spattered floor. They were all dressed in black robes that lay open at the chest. Sherlock swallowed as he observed that each man's heart had been cut out. However, it was not the mutilated bodies that drew Sherlock's attention. Frantically Sherlock pressed the zoom feature to make sure that what he saw was accurate. A beautiful blue velvet pillow lay at the entrance to the room. Its clean beautiful appearance was in stark contrast to the carnage that lay around it. Sherlock felt as if he were going to faint, when he saw what was in the center of the cushion. It was John's watch with a note attached to it. The words appeared to have been written in blood. Sherlock's face paled as he whispered the words of the note aloud, "I.O.U."

John watched Moriarty as he played a Chopin Nocturne on the piano that stood in the middle of the living room. Taking a sip of tea from the cup he held in his hand, John felt that he had been living this strange life with Moriarty for eternity. Moriarty smiled as he met John's gaze. Slowly, he licked his upper lip. John swallowed as he brought the tea cup up to his mouth.

"Damn," John swore when the tea scalded his tongue. As his grip loosened on the tea cup, it fell to the tiled floor and shattered into a million pieces.

Moriarty stopped playing and walked over to where John knelt cleaning up the fragments of the cup. John didn't look up as Moriarty took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to put the pieces of the broken teacup into it. Time seemed to slow down and John froze when Moriarty gently encircled his fingers around his wrist. His heart pounded in his chest and John could hear the blood beating in his ears. God, he was lonely. Moriarty put the handkerchief with the shattered teacup pieces on the ground.

Moriarty then crawled over to where John still kneeled. Like a rabbit caught in the hypotonic gaze of a snake, John didn't move as Moriarty glided toward him. Just before Moriarty reached him John crawled backwards and slipped in a puddle of tea. Smiling Moriarty straddled over John's prone body. "John, "he whispered as he positioned a leg on either side of John's body. John could feel the heat radiating from Moriarty's body. "I've got to resist," John thought as Moriarty began to unbutton his shirt. However, all thoughts of resistance fled from John's mind as Moriarty unzipped his jeans and began to massage between John's legs.

John gasped and thrust his hips towards Moriarty. "John, be patient," Moriarty whispered as he slipped John's jeans off. As John lay naked from the waist down Moriarty kept up his massage until John began to whimper. Without another word Moriarty picked up John and slung him over his shoulder and carried him to bed. John dug his heels into the mattress as the pressure built up inside him. Moriarty slowly took off his clothes as John watched. Once he was naked Moriarty fit his body into between John's legs until John could feel the hardness between Moriarty's legs pushing against the inside of his thigh. "He's going to torture me," John thought as Moriarty moved his hand away from his crotch. Closing his eyes John waited for something terrible to happen, so that when Moriarty's mouth took up where his hand had left off John groaned with pleasure and guilt. "Sherlock, "John mouthed as tears ran down his cheeks. Sherlock would never forgive him for this. Soon all rational thought left John's mind as Moriarty brought him to a climax.

Moriarty lifted his head from in between John's legs and began to suck on his neck. Easing his knees apart Moriarty prepared John's body for his own entrance. John took a deep breath as Moriarty's fingers loosened his tightness and then gasped as Moriarty slowly thrust his appendage inside him. The sequence made John writhe in pleasure, first the tip, then the middle, and finally Moriarty was all the way in. His downward in and out motions were a lot gentler than John expected, and his love starved body responded by forcing itself up so that Moriarty could penetrate him deeper. After Moriarty climaxed he curled up in John's arms and wept. Unsure of what to do John just patted Moriarty's neck. After a moment Moriarty raised his tear stained face to look up at John. "John, I have never made love like that before. My first sexual experience was forced upon me and after that I mainly indulged in sexual practices of bondage, dominance and humiliation. We must never do this again."

Totally unprepared for this side of Moriarty John let Moriarty weep himself to sleep. Once Moriarty was breathing heavily, John eased himself out from underneath and took a shower. As the warm water washed over him John felt he would never be clean again. Sherlock would not want him back ever. Morbid abusive thoughts flowed through John's mind like humid drops of rain, so that by the end of the shower he was so overwhelmed with despair that he began to contemplate suicide. With a grim realization John realized that everything he and Sherlock had worked towards was gone in a moment of lust and what was he to make of this tender, vulnerable side of Moriarty. In any other circumstance John would have thought that Moriarty had faked the tears. However, John had seen enough men die in battle. As they breathed their last they often cried for their mothers or sweethearts, either way the tears were unlike anything John had seen. Deep tears of agony had a different sound and feel, their groaning's were like a giant tree making its last movements as it fell to the ground never to sway in the wind again. John had never put much stock in the Bible; however when the Bible spoke of Jesus weeping great tears of blood in the Garden of Gethsemane he thought that whoever had written the Gospels was more than familiar with tears of death. "Tears of Death," John thought as he remembered the quiver in Sherlock's voice before he jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. "Tears of Death," John thought as the face of every dying soldier came back to haunt him. "Stop this," John shouted aloud as he leaned against shower wall. Glancing over at the soap container, John noticed the metal razor. Like Sleeping Beauty just before she pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, John's eyes grew large as he slowly reached for the razor. "The small blade inside will bring me relief," John thought as he struggled to get at the inside of the razor.

Sherlock lay in bed wide awake. "Where was John? However, will we find him? Mycroft and MI-6 were certain that if John were still alive that he had not left Prague." The thought was not a comforting one, due to the fact that if Moriarty had John he was probably slowly torturing him to death. Sherlock had never believed in a higher power; however just in case Sherlock prayed. "If there is a male or female deity, please spare my lover, my friend, my life, John." The words hovered in the room as Sherlock sighed and rolled over. Sleep was obviously something that was not going to happen, so Sherlock got up and tapped on the adjourning door to he and Mary's room. "Mary, are you asleep? It's me Sherlock."

After a few moments Mary jerked open the door. "What is it Sherlock?" She snapped.

Sherlock looked down and traced a pattern on the rug. "Um I can't sleep. I thought maybe we could go over where we might possibly find John."

Mary sighed and held the door open. "Fine, come in, but Sherlock we may have to face the fact that he is well…dead."

Sherlock felt as if the air had been sucked out of him in an instant, leaving his chest tight and unyielding to the breaths that struggled to get free and then Sherlock felt a faint, familiar presence. "John is in terrible danger, but I know he is still alive." Sherlock said as he swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.


	10. Chapter 10

John held the small razor blade in his hand as the warm water from the shower rushed over him. His hand shook slightly as John positioned the blade over the artery that would do the most damage if cut. If the slash was clean he would bleed out in a few minutes. John held the blade sideways over the main artery in his wrist and pushed slightly down. "Jesus, that hurts, "John thought as the blade broke his skin. Blood oozed out of his wrist, pooled around his legs and then like a horror movie it swirled down the drain of the shower. John took a deep breath and prepared for the final cut. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," John whispered aloud. Before he could make the fatal slash, Moriarty took John's hand that held the blade and slammed it against the wall until John dropped the blade. There was blood everywhere, as the warm water made it flow heavily over the bathroom floor.

"Jesus," Moriarty cursed as he attempted to stop the blood flow with a bath towel. John lay on the floor unresisting, his eyes glazed with a slight smile on his face.

Moriarty grabbed his iPhone off the floor where he had dropped it. "It's me Jim, I need you to get over here right away, and don't be late or I will skin you alive."

Moriarty picked up John, took him to the bed and wrapped him in blankets. As Moriarty piled on more blankets he could feel John's body temperature dropping. "Shit, he's going into shock," Moriarty thought. "John, John stay with me….please," Moriarty whispered. He had not said the word please in so long that it sounded like a foreign dialect. Moriarty curled up next to John until he felt his iPhone vibrating. He checked his text message and jumped off the bed. A few moments later Moriarty returned with a woman that made Irene Adler look like a Sunday school teacher. Her hair was dyed jet black and her lips, eyebrows, and nose were pierced through with metal wires. She ran over to where John was and stripped off the blankets one by one. "Jim, what the hell happened? I am only a nurse and this looks beyond my….."

Moriarty reached out and grasped her wrist. "I will kill you slowly if you don't save him, so you'd best get to work."

The dominatrix nurse walked over to John and then looked back at Moriarty. "He's going to need a blood transfusion and you'd better pray to God that his blood type is the same type as you or I, or forget it, he's dust." The Nurse reached into a black leather bag with a skeleton on it and pulled out a small blood testing kit. She then walked over to John and put some of his blood on the slide. It seemed like hours before she announced, "His blood type is A+. Well, that rules me out."

Moriarty walked over and stared down at John's body. God he was so white. "That's my blood type," Moriarty said as he looked back at the nurse. As the nurse prepared Moriarty and John for the blood transfusion, Moriarty felt a small thrill of pleasure at the thought of his blood giving life to John. When the Nurse stuck the needle in his arm, Moriarty gasped with pleasure.

The Nurse rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Moriarty you and your boyfriend better tone down the games." The Nurse said as she looked down at Moriarty. She sighed and slapped his leg, "What am I going to do with you? You are so deliciously wicked."

Moriarty grinned back and sighed again when his movement made the needle shift in his arm.

"Hey, "the nurse said, "If you keep that up I will have to charge you an extra fee for my dominatrix services."

Moriarty closed his eyes as he struggled for control. He had never wanted someone as badly as he wanted John. His need for John was almost as great as his need to kill Sherlock. A groan from John made Moriarty sit up. "Is he going to be okay?" Moriarty asked desperately.

The Nurse turned and openly gapped at Moriarty. "Oh, my God, you really care for this guy. Could it be that Satan's spawn has fallen in love? Poor, Poor Moriarty, welcome to hell with the rest of us." She said it seductively with a hint of sadness.

After the Nurse left Moriarty tended to John and wondered what was next for them. He couldn't keep John here forever, or could he? Was there a way to make John love him through some sort of Alchemy formula? It was time to study and find out.

John opened his eyes and looked around. He wasn't in Moriarty's room any more he appeared to be in a room that resembled a hospital room. Hope made John's heart beat faster, was he home? "Sherlock? " John asked in a crackling voice.

"No, it's me," Moriarty whispered as he came to stand at John's bedside. "Are you feeling better? I had to give you a blood transfusion, so now we are united." John looked so horrified that Moriarty sank to the floor and put his head down on his knees. John recognized the defensive posture and thought that Moriarty most likely had developed the mechanism in childhood. For a moment neither of them said anything, and then John spoke. "Moriarty, what are you going to do with me? If I just knew what you had in mind, maybe I could bear it."

Moriarty looked up at John with wide brown eyes. His hair was ruffled and his t-shirt and jeans had dried blood on them. He looked so young and vulnerable that John cleared his throat to distract him from the disturbing image.

Moriarty jumped up and began to pace. "I thought you could stay in this room for your privacy. The former Doctor, who occupied it, will not need the space any longer."

As John studied Moriarty's face he had no doubt that the Doctor was most likely dead and that Moriarty had probably killed him. "What is my purpose here?" John asked.

Moriarty's voice became high pitched with excitement. "Well, I will make this room a little bit more personal for you, so you will be comfortable. You will stay here and assist me in my experiments. I know that after a while you will come to care for me as I do you. After all, we already know we have physical connection. However, no need to worry I won't touch you again, well unless you want me to," Moriarty said shyly.

John studied Moriarty's flushed cheeks with disbelief. "Moriarty, killer, soul burner, evil master mind criminal," was blushing like a school girl.

Sherlock went back to his room. The talk with Mary didn't help him sort out anything at all. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes as he mentally pulled up a map of the city of Prague. Where could John be? A knock at the door distracted Sherlock from further speculation and he could tell from the sound of the knock that it was Mycroft. Sherlock answered the door and let Mycroft in. "What do you want?" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft pulled up a map of the city on his iPhone and motioned for Sherlock to stand next to him. "We put a tail on some of Moriarty's contacts in the city and found that a nurse that Moriarty often employs to complete various tasks for him went to an underground tunnel last night. Here," Mycroft said as he zoomed in on a specific place on the map. "We picked her up last night. We still have her in custody and so far she is not talking."

Sherlock sighed in boredom. "Get to the point, Mycroft." Sherlock growled.

Mycroft took a deep breath and continued on. "Sherlock, we found a bundle of bloody, towels and blankets in her car. We did a DNA test on them and it's a match for John."

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft by the arm and pulled him towards the door. "I want to see them now." Sherlock commanded.

The ride over to the lab was quiet as Mary, Sherlock, and Mycroft remained immersed in their own thoughts. Prague was a beautiful city at night; however its majestic beauty was lost on the three companions. Once they were in the lab Sherlock examined the towels and blankets with an intense ferocity. He weighed them sniffed them and then balanced them in each hand. "John lost about 5 liters of blood. To survive he would have needed a blood transfusion." Sherlock said as he looked up at Mary and Mycroft. He paced for a few moments and then went over to the computer. "I need to know Jim Moriarty's blood type," Sherlock muttered aloud. "Mycroft, log in so that I check," Sherlock commanded.

Mycroft walked over punched in a password and moved aside for Sherlock to access to the keyboard. After a few moments Sherlock looked victorious, "Jim Moriarty has the same blood type as John."

Mycroft and Mary exchanged an alarmed glance, for it appeared that Sherlock was desperately grabbing at straws.


	11. Chapter 11

John awoke to the sound of violin playing and for a moment he thought it was Sherlock, and then as he listened further he realized it wasn't. Sherlock's playing was beautiful, but whoever was playing this was a virtuoso capable of performing professionally. John opened his eyes and realized that it was Moriarty playing Bach's Chaconne. He attacked each chord with such purity and ferocity that John momentarily forgot around the burning of his wounded wrists. Closing his eyes John let the magic of the music pour over him. When Moriarty stopped playing John spoke weakly, "Moriarty, please play that piece again." His voice was hushed for fear that he would break the spell. As if reading his mind Moriarty didn't say a word he just played the piece for John again. He ended up playing the piece several times until John fell back to sleep.

When John awoke again he was back in Moriarty's bed. Moriarty was hastily packing up several duffle bags, throwing out things he didn't want in an enraged frenzy. When Moriarty noticed John watching him he stopped packing.

"John, I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but we need to be on a plane to Jerusalem in a few hours," Moriarty said as he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

John coughed. "Jerusalem, you mean the one in Israel?" John asked. For a moment Moriarty gave him a look that reminded John so much like an expression of Sherlock's that John just sighed and leaned back on the pillows.

"Yes, there is a manuscript that I must see and the owner won't take it out of the country, so off to Israel we go. Don't worry I will give you a sedative for the journey," Moriarty said as he resumed packing.

John leaned back and pretended to be asleep as Moriarty quietly put items into several duffle bags once more; however this time his movements were methodical and rational. John squinted. He paid particular attention when Moriarty held up an old battered note book and gently laid it on a nearby table. "The book must be important," John thought as he made a mental note to see what it contained when Moriarty next left the area.

A few minutes later and John got his chance when Moriarty was in the little kitchenette. Quickly John tipped toed across the room, grabbed the note book and stuffed it under his pillow. It seemed that fate was finally with John for a few moments later Moriarty left the compound. John's stomach churned with sorrow when he heard all the locks sliding into place. Putting his feelings of entrapment aside John took out the note book and began to read:

1st Entry

My name is Jim Moriarty the school counselor says that as part of my therapy I should write in a journal. The reason the school therapist is up in my face, is because I set Carl Power's jacket on fire. He thinks he is so great. He makes me sick. Carl Powers and I are both 11 years old; we are in advanced placement classes together. Carl is one of the most popular kids in school; he is the best athlete in our district. Every day he makes my life a living hell. Yesterday, in chemistry he humiliated me in front of the entire class. Nobody wanted to be my lab partner, so the teacher had to work with me. I accidently spilled water on my crotch and Karl powers said that I had wet my pants. All the kids laughed at me all day. It was a tough afternoon, then at lunch Carl threw an apple at me and it hit me so hard that it left a red mark on the side of my face, and as if that wasn't bad enough, I started to cry in front of the whole lunch crowd. It was after lunch that I saw Carl's jacket and I set it on fire with some matches that I found behind the gym. I wish he would have been in it. As much as school sucks, home is even worse. My dad drinks all the time. He is a mean drunk. When he found out about the jacket, he beat me within an inch of my life. My mom just sits in the corner, smokes nonstop and reads romance novels. When my dad isn't beating me, he is beating her. As much as I hate my dad, I hate my mom even more because she is such a coward and just sits there and takes it. Why she doesn't stick a butcher knife in his back I'll never know. I sometimes fantasize about stabbing him myself. God, it would feel so good to see the look of surprise on his face as I stuck a knife up to the hilt in his bloated belly.

2nd Entry

Christmas is just around the corner, and I am feeling better. I actually have a friend at school. Her name is Ann, and she is so beautiful and sweet. She is tall has brown hair, blue eyes and she always smells like strawberries. We met at lunch. She was the new kid and didn't know that she wasn't supposed to sit next to me. Ann is one of those kids that make a person feel at ease. When she started talking to me I wouldn't answer, then she laughed and asked me my name. I remember telling her that my name was Jim and that's it. I talked nonstop as if making up for all the years of silence. Today was the day before winter break and she gave me a Christmas present. Can you believe it? It was just a small box of chocolates, but it meant the world to me. I have not gotten a Christmas present since my grandma died. She invited me to her house for Christmas Dinner, and I can hardly wait. Christmas may just be great this year.

3rd Entry

On Christmas day I stole the neighbor kid's bike to ride to Ann's house. How can I describe Ann's house? It was everything that my house could never be. My house is dark and dreary like the house in "The House of the Seven Gables", and Ann's house was full of light and laughter. I always thought those kinds of houses were just a fantasy on a Christmas T.V. show. Every square inch of Ann's house was decorated with Angels. I had never seen so many beautiful things in one place. Food at my house is always pretty scarce and I usually just have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner. Ann's Christmas dinner consisted of Ham, potatoes, green beans, hot biscuits and some kind of wonderful sweet relish. Dessert was some kind of fruit pie. If I would have known how things would turn out the way they have I would have never made friends with Ann. I went home in a daze. I felt as if nothing could douse my joy. For the first time I knew what the Christmas spirit was. I didn't realize that I had left my jacket at Ann's until after I got home. I put my key in the lock and was relieved when I say my dad passed out on the couch. My mom was nowhere to be seen, so she must have gone to bed. About a half hour later, there was a knock at the door. No one came to our house, unless it was a complaining neighbor, or someone wanting money. I peered through the peep hole in the door and saw Ann on the porch. Oh, God, I couldn't let her in. I waited and didn't answer the door, hoping that she would leave. The third time she knocked I heard my dad stir on the couch. I had to get her out of there before my dad woke up. I opened the door quietly and squeezed out onto the porch. Ann's shinning smile was in such contrast to the monovalent atmosphere of our house that I almost cried. I thanked her for bringing me my coat and told her I couldn't let her in because my dad was sick. Ann waved goodbye and that was it, she was gone and my chest actually hurt when she rode off on her bike. I jumped when I turned around and saw my dad standing behind me. He asked who Ann was and I told him she was just a school friend. My dad smiled and his eyes were hard and mean. It was too late to escape. He pulled me by the ear into the house and beat me worse than I had ever been beaten before. I went to my room and cried myself dry. It was then that I planned to kill him.

4th Entry

I was still pretty sore a week later from the beating I got from my dad on Christmas. However, school was due to start in two days, so I was happy. One day when I came downstairs a man I had never seen before was talking softly with my dad. He gestured towards me and asked the man what he thought. I didn't like the look on the man's face, it was a look I had never seen before and it made me shiver. My dad grabbed me by the arm. Jim you need to go with this man, it's time to earn your keep. Take him up to your room and do what he says. I tried to run, but the man was too fast. The man took me up to my room and locked the door. He grabbed me and gagged me. I just can't write about what he did to me. I tried to think of Ann or anything else that was good, however, that was the day that darkness began to take me. My dad unlocked the door a few times and laughed at what was being done to me. The next time my Dad opened the door he told the man the half hour was up. The man begged for another half hour but my dad just laughed. Just give me my money and get out.

5th Entry

When Ann tried to talk to me at school, I avoided her worried gaze and told her I wouldn't be able to go to lunch with her anymore. So, at lunch I snuck back into the chemistry lab to experiment with concocting poisons. Botulinum was my poison of choice, but I had to get the formula just right.

6th Entry

Several weeks have gone by and Ann has started hanging out with Carl Powers. Every time she approaches me I tell her that things are tough at home. I figure that pretty soon I would have the formula figured out, but I would need to test it out on a human. A few months later, I got my idea. The school was going to London for a swimming field trip. That's the day I will test out my poison. I will kill Carl Powers. Carl had eczema, so I would sneak the poison in his tube of medicine.

7th Entry

The worst thing happened today. Oh God I don't know if I can write about it or not. I will try. Ann came by the house this afternoon. She got there just as one of the men had been in my room. I was sitting at the bottom of the steps with my head in my hands. She took one look at the glance the man gave me and well she just knew. Oh God, Jim, I'm going to get help she screamed and ran. The man began to chase her and before I knew it a car struck her down. I ran to her and as the ambulance was coming she died in my arms. Today it was if an angel of darkness took my soul. The feelings of hurt and loneliness that once overwhelmed me are gone and I feel invincible.

8th Entry

Today was the field trip to the pool. It was so easy to slip the poison into Carl's medicine. The teacher tried so hard to revive him that I really had to exercise all the self-control I could muster not to laugh as they took his body away. I am truly the master criminal.

9th Entry

Several months later, I put my concoction in my dad's gin bottle. I don't even think my mom noticed he was gone. I know I'm not going to miss him a bit. So, let this be a lesson to all my future enemies I will burn the heart out of anyone who gets in my way. My heart is already burned out. I ceased to have a soul the day Ann died.

John couldn't help the tears that slid down his cheeks as he put the journal down. "My God, no wonder Moriarty was the way he was," John thought sadly. John didn't even notice when the locks slid open until Moriarty stood at the edge of the bed.

"John, I killed the last person that read my journal without my permission," Moriarty said softly as he took the journal from John's outstretched hand. He then smiled sadly into John's eyes, "I really suppose it doesn't matter now for that journal was written a lifetime ago." To make his point Moriarty took the journal from John and threw it across the room. "John," Moriarty said as he opened a drawer next to the bed and drew out a syringe. "I'm going to give you a mild sedative. The next time you wake, you will be in Israel with me." The last thing John remembered before he lost consciousness was Moriarty's sad, child-like eyes staring down at him.

"Sunshine, warmth, safety", John thought as he opened his eyes. He was outside lying on a pallet in the semi-shade of an olive tree. Everything came back to him in a rush as John slowly sat up to take in his surroundings. He was in a garden of olive trees, across the garden Moriarty sat engrossed in reading something on his laptop. Moriarty was wearing a white linen shirt and pants, the sleeves of the shirt billowed slightly in the wind. John watched the movement of the sleeves in fascination. Sensing his gaze Moriarty looked up from his laptop and smiled at John. "Feeling better?" He asked softly.

John was about to say something, but instead he rolled over and promptly threw up in the grass. Moriarty was by his side in a second. "John, I am so sorry, you seem to have had a reaction to the sedative, but don't worry it will pass."

John groaned, threw up one more time and then passed out.

John tossed and turned as another nightmare tormented him. John tried in vain to protect Sherlock and Moriarty as an unseen assailant attacked them both. John cried out as their dead child-like bodies lay at his feet. "No, God, no," John cried aloud sobbing. Someone's arms encircled him as a voice comforted him.

"SSh, John," I'm here Moriarty whispered as he rocked John back and forth. After John cried himself out Moriarty led him into the main room of the apartment and led him to a couch. A few moments later Moriarty came back with a bowl of pineapple yogurt and banana slices. "Here, John, you need to eat," Moriarty said as he sat the food in front of John.

John looked around him, it was beautiful room filled with ancient Middle Eastern pottery, urns, and other artifacts. A floor length oil painting of Jerusalem dominated the room and flower filled vases were scattered around at intervals here and there.

"Wow," John said. "This place is fantastic. Whose is it?"

Moriarty smiled smugly, "It's mine. I have a flat in every major city around the world, John." Moriarty said as he gestured around the room.

John nodded and went and stood before the painting. It was so life like that John marveled at the ability of the artist to make a picture seem like a photograph instead of an oil painting. "This is lovely," John said as he momentarily forgot his situation.

Moriarty came and stood so close to John that he could feel the heat radiating from his body. John took a few steps back. "Is there anything that you and Sherlock can't do?" John snapped.

Moriarty smiled as his eyes moved from John's head to his feet. Licking his lips slowly Moriarty said, "Apparently, not."

John flushed and looked away. Moriarty just laughed and once more stood close to John. "Go eat, John. I have something to show you on my computer." Moriarty turned to leave and then at the last moment walked over and encircled John's waist. It took every effort Moriarty possessed not to put his hand down John's pants. His hands shook as Moriarty let John go. As his fingers moved from around John's waist, Moriarty let them lightly graze the front of John's crotch. He then sucked in a deep breath and angrily told John to hurry up and eat.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock burst into Moriarty's apartment in Prague. He turned around in a frantic circle with his hand to his mouth. John and Moriarty were gone. A few seconds later, Mycroft burst into the room followed by Mary.

"Damn it, Sherlock, wait for backup before you go into a situation like this," Mycroft shouted half annoyed and half fearful for his little brother's safety. In order to cover the emotions that flitted across his face, Mycroft lashed out. "Never mind, brother mine, you have unfortunately let your heart rule your head in all matters regarding John Watson."

Sherlock wanted to scream, he felt so frustrated. He settled for pacing the floor instead. Sherlock paced a few moments and then he noticed the old spiral notebook in the corner. Hastily, Sherlock picked up the notebook, for he knew there was something important about its dog eared pages. The note book turned out to be Moriarty's journal from childhood. As Sherlock read each entry was more heart breaking than the first, so that by the time he was finished reading it Sherlock was sick at his stomach from revulsion and something that he would never admit to anyone, perhaps not even to John, Sherlock felt-pity. He felt pity for the damaged child that grew up to be the heartless man-Moriarty. Sherlock looked around as Interpol officers poured over the scene, making sure no one was watching, Sherlock stuck Moriarty's journal in his inside pocket. He failed to notice Mary watching him from behind him, as he patted his jacket where the journal was safely stored for future perusal.

Back at the safe house Mary and Mycroft listened as Sherlock played one heartbreaking Bach Partita after another. Finally, Mycroft could stand no more. "For God's sake Sherlock, quit playing those melancholy funeral like dirges." Mycroft shouted tensely as he always did when he couldn't reach Sherlock. Was Sherlock's world-his mind palace, a place of safety or torment? Ignoring Mycroft's request Sherlock played louder until Mycroft got up and left the room with Mary on his heels.

Mary looked troubled. "I never realized that Sherlock was such a passionate player. I somehow thought his playing would be well, cold and mechanical." Mary mused aloud.

Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock's spirit is a restless one. I only hope that it will not be his undoing," Mycroft said softly.

Mary looked over a Mycroft and was surprised that he actually cared about Sherlock, perhaps even loved him.

Mycroft was clearly uncomfortable and was relieved when Mary suggested they have a tall Gin and Tonic. Mary made the drinks and few moments later Mycroft was coughing furiously. "Good God, Mary, did you put in any tonic water at all?" Mycroft said as he coughed again.

Mary shrugged. "I thought we could benefit more from the effects of the gin more than the quinine in the tonic water. After all I don't have night leg cramps, do you?" Mary asked as her blue eyes bored into Mycroft's.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. Something about talking about potential physical issues with Mary, made Mycroft feel nervous." Mary downed her drink in a couple of swallows, promptly sat down in a chair and began to cry.

Mycroft panicked. Good Lord, he could handle anything but tears. Mary sobbed for a few moments and then Mycroft crossed the room to where Mary sat and awkwardly patted her on the back. "There, there," Mycroft said quietly. Mary turned her tear stained face up to Mycroft and took his hand. Mycroft gasped for he was totally unprepared for the effect of another person's touch, especially that of a woman as beautiful as Mary. His reaction was not lost on Mary, for she stood up and kissed Mycroft hard. "Mycroft, take me to bed," Mary whispered huskily.

Mycroft backed up as if he had been stung, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Mycroft asked in panic.

Mary ignored him and kissed Mycroft harder this time. As his lips parted slightly Mary slipped her tongue inside Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft hesitantly slipped his tongue in Mary's mouth and then after a few moments pulled away.

Mary put her arms around Mycroft's waist. "Please, don't turn away. Oh God, you're not gay, are you?"

Mycroft shook his head no and cleared his throat. "Mary, I just feel that I would be taking advantage of you."

Mary laughed bitterly was she took Mycroft's hand and rubbed it against her bare breast. "Mycroft, we all take advantage of each other every second of every day. We might as well get some pleasure from it," Mary whispered as she began to unbutton Mycroft's shirt. Mycroft let Mary take off his shirt, but tensed up when she began to unbuckle his pants. Mary looked up, "What's wrong? Oh Jesus, you're not a virgin are you?"

"No, it's just been a long time since…," Mycroft's voice trailed off as Mary slipped his pants down. Mary looked at Mycroft as he stood before her in his underwear, he looked terrified. Mycroft knew that if he were to remove his underwear, he would lose his balance and fall. Mary gently led him to a chair and then she slowly peeled off his underwear and socks. She then sat on Mycroft's lap facing him as she began to kiss his neck. Mary put her hand between Mycroft's legs for a little foreplay. Mycroft gasped and slid out of the chair to the floor. As Mary helped him up Mycroft's hands began to shake. He tentatively unbuttoned her blouse and began to massage her breast. When her nipples hardened under his touch Mycroft desperately pulled Mary to the bed. She couldn't get clothes off fast enough, as he frantically began to take her blouse and bra off. Mycroft stared at her breasts in fascination. "God, she was beautiful," Mycroft thought as Mary guided his hand into her underwear. He let his fingers explore where she had led them and then they both desperately divested her of the rest of the clothing. Mycroft groaned as she explored his body with her tongue. He felt so light headed that Mary had to lead the proceedings for a few moments, and then as if by magic Mycroft was inside her, thrusting, pulsing, moving together as one force. Sherlock's violin playing drifted through the room as if from a tunnel. Mycroft had never thought Bach was sexy, but that night he understood why Bach had fathered so many children, God the passion of that music matched his penetration of Mary's soft, warm, moist woman hood, so that Mycroft thought he had surely died and gone to heaven or maybe hell, he thought as Mary thrust her hips upward into him. Afterwards Mary lay in his arms, as she rubbed his chest. "Mycroft, why do you waste yourself?" Mary asked as she played with his nipples.

Mycroft chuckled. "Whatever do you mean, Mary?"

Mary rolled over on top of him. "You know what I mean. I never see you with anyone. Jesus, you are so talented in the sack, "Mary breathed as she sucked on Mycroft's neck.

"Umm I think you are the inspiration of our physical union, Mary, that and my damn little brother's violin playing. Jesus, I always thought Back to be a fat stogy old man, but his music is perfectly synchronized. Like…I can't think of the word." Mycroft said in slight confusion.

"Like, this," Mary said as she dove under the covers and began to work her way orally to the middle of Mycroft's legs.

Once her tongue reached its intended target Mycroft had to stick a corner of the sheet in his mouth to keep from screaming out. When he finally got his breath back Mycroft breathlessly panted, "Jesus, Mary I swear you are the devil himself…," His voice trailed off in grunt as Mary worked her way up to his neck. Then, Mycroft sighed in absolute relief when she positioned herself on top of him so that he could penetrate her deeply.

The next morning Sherlock watched Mycroft and Mary through shrewdly squinted eyes. Something was different. Mycroft looked happy. Mary looked happy. They both looked happy as they looked at each other across the table. "Oh, good, God, you two had sex last night," Sherlock blurted out.

Mary's face turned red and Mycroft sighed in exasperation. "Sherlock, you have the unerring habit of stating the obvious. Mary and I are both single adults and that's what single adults do."

Sherlock didn't reply as he looked at Mycroft. By God, Mycroft looked at least ten years younger as he sat drinking his tea. He wasn't wearing a jacket, his shirt was buttoned crooked, and his hair was ruffled in messy tuffs around his face. Sherlock felt uncomfortable and confused. Mary had been with John, now she was with Mycroft, John had been with Mary and now he was with Sherlock. The sex drive apparently was much stronger than he anticipated. "Holidays were going to be more awkward than usual with this set up. All they needed was for Moriarty to get together with someone in the household and it would be a truly Kinky Christmas." Sherlock thought in amusement. Then another thought penetrated his mind like a grain of sand in an oyster shell, John had been missing a little over a month now. He must be scared and lonely. Could he be lonely enough to turn to Moriarty? No, Moriarty was inhuman and that would repulse John. Then Sherlock thought of Moriarty's sad journal that was something that John would respond to. John was a knight, a hero-a rescuer. Sherlock watched Mary and Mycroft with a feeling of dread. Loneliness could drive an individual into another individual's arms just as easily as it could separate an individual away from the arms of another.


	13. Chapter 13

John stared down at the tracking device that encircled around his ankle in distaste. "Well, at least it was better than the handcuffs," John thought as he paced around the apartment. Moriarty had gone out to examine the document that he had drug them both to Jerusalem for, leaving John alone in the residence. John knew that with the tracking device there was no way he was going to escape; however there was nothing to prevent him from snooping around for information. John walked quietly over to where Moriarty's laptop sat on his desk. He knew it would be password protected, but it was worth a try to guess. After a few tries, John leaned back and sighed. As for what happened next, John wasn't sure if it was because he was in Jerusalem or what, but he said a quick prayer and entered IOUSHERLOCK, damn it didn't work, then John entered ANN4/11/76, nothing, then John thought back to the entries in young Moriarty's journal and one date stood out, the entry about Christmas was a particularly poignant, so on a whim John entered 861225Angels, as the computer miraculously came to life. John thanked whatever deities existed and began to look through Moriarty's files. He opened the folder entitled SH, one file in particular caught John's attention, the file was labeled Extermination Holmes Permanent Solution. John double clicked on the file and as he began to read John felt the blood drain from his face. Sherlock would never survive this, no human could.

John jumped when he felt Moriarty's grip on his shoulder," John, what are you doing?" Moriarty whispered in a low menacing voice.

John whipped around to face Moriarty. "You are planning to release chemical warfare on Sherlock to destroy him."

Moriarty clapped his hands together and leaned back. "Yes, isn't it glorious? Sherlock will die slowly, thinking he has cancer or some other disease, and when he lies in a hospital bed writhing in pain I will breeze in and laugh as he draws his last breath." Moriarty sighed in pleasure and then turned to John. "So, John are you hungry?" Moriarty asked casually, ignoring their previous conversation.

John continued to stare at Moriarty in horror and then an idea came to mind, it was repulsive and yet John had to try it. John got up and faced Moriarty and then with lightning fast reflexes John grabbed Moriarty by the throat. As he slammed Moriarty against the wall, Moriarty shivered with delight at John's rough treatment of his body. Then Moriarty reached out like a snake capturing its prey and grasped John's wounded wrist. Moriarty dug his fingers into John's wound until John finally collapsed in a heap on the floor. "It's time for plan B," John thought as he struggled to catch his breath. Moriarty had John pinned down and after a few seconds he let John break free. As John crawled over to where Moriarty lay he spoke softly, "Moriarty…Jim, I have a proposition for you," John said as he inched closer to Moriarty. "If you promise to let Sherlock live in peace, I will be yours, I will stay with you, no need for this, "John said as he pointed to the tracking device on his ankle. Slowly John put his hand on Moriarty's abdomen, "So, what do you say?" John asked huskily.

Moriarty moved John's hand downwards, "How do you know you can trust me?" Moriarty gasped as John moved his fingers lower.

John unbuttoned the top button of Moriarty's pants and moved his other hand to the same warm downward target. "How do you know you can trust me?" John asked as he flipped Moriarty over on his stomach. "Stand up and bend over the couch," John commanded.

Moriarty did as he was told and let his pants drop down around his ankles. As John struggled to get his own pants down, Moriarty turned around to assist. Wasting no time Moriarty grabbed at the front of John's pants like a greedy child ripping open at package at Christmas time. Moriarty then assumed his position over the couch. "I'm not going to waste any time with foreplay," John thought as he adjusted Moriarty's position. "You want me, then fine off to the races," John thought as he angrily plunged into Moriarty. Things didn't last long and John prepared himself for the same type of treatment, so that when Moriarty gently picked him up and carried him to the bed, John felt confused. Moriarty not only took his time with John, he left no base uncovered, so that in spite of himself John cried out twice for Sherlock. "Sherlock," John cried out again as Moriarty lifted his head up from where he had orally fixated on John.

"Oh, John, you are so fucking sweet, "Moriarty said as he carefully pushed John's legs open further. Unlike John, Moriarty's thrusts were slow methodical and meant to please.

"Irene Adler, eat your heart out," John thought as he cried out for a fourth time. Afterwards, Moriarty lay next to John, sucking on his neck. "If you're trying for another round, I'm spent," John said as he leaned back.

Moriarty laughed. "John, my sweet John, you never know what you can do unless you try," Moriarty whispered as he stuck his tongue in John's ear and slowly moved it around.

John's mind had shut down, but his body once more betrayed him as he lustily bit down on Moriarty's ear lobe until he drew blood. Moriarty rolled over on his stomach.

John straddled him and in spite of himself laughed. "Moriarty, is this you want?" John teased as he pushed his hard groin into Moriarty's thigh.

"Yes, please John," Moriarty whimpered.

John had to admit that he got off when Moriarty begged. He felt the pressure build up in his groin as he let Moriarty plead a few more times, and then he acquiesced to Moriarty's request and to his dismay, John enjoyed the climax that he and Moriarty shared later. When John cried out this time, it was for Jim.

A few slap and tickles and a shower later, John walked up behind Moriarty as he pointed to the image on his laptop of a document that he had scanned for further inspection. "Look at this, John" Moriarty said as he excitedly pointed to a pattern on the image of the ancient document before them.

John sighed. "Jesus, it was just like being with Sherlock. He had no idea what pattern Moriarty was referring to," John thought in annoyance.

Moriarty reached out and grabbed John's hand, carefully avoiding his wounded wrist. This extra step of kindness disturbed John. After all, Moriarty was evil, wasn't he?

"John, are you paying attention?" Moriarty scolded.

John nodded and then he saw the pattern that Moriarty traced on the screen for him. "My God, that's a human DNA helix," John gasped.

Moriarty smiled in approval. "Very good, John," he praised.

The words reminded John of something that Sherlock would say and he felt a pain in the pit of his stomach as he thought of his beloved Sherlock. "Sherlock, my love you are safe," John thought contentedly.

Moriarty scowled. "John, I can tell you're thinking about him-Sherlock. Don't worry I won't touch him, after all I have you so I have his heart, right?" Moriarty chuckled as he moved his fingers lightly over John's arm.

John jerked his arm away from Moriarty and went in the bathroom and threw up, over and over, until he thought that the next thing to come up would be his insides-his heart. Moriarty stood in the bathroom doorway watching John vomit. After a few dry heaves, John curled up on the floor, and put his warm face against the cool tiles. Moriarty gently stepped over him and laid a cold washcloth on John's forehead. "John, we will talk about the document later. Go rest now, you can have the guest room. Come on John, it's okay," Moriarty said as he held out his hand to John. John wanted to slap it away, but instead he took Moriarty's hand and let himself be led to the guest room. Moriarty tucked John in and then lay down beside him. Moriarty then rubbed his hand against the stubble on John's face. John's eyes fluttered as sleep overtook him. Moriarty continued to rub John's face until John's breathing became deeper and relaxed. Then he reached over and kissed John on the lips, "God, help us all, I love you John Watson," Moriarty whispered sadly as he got up to leave.

As Mycroft, Mary and Sherlock sat on a private jet heading for Israel, Sherlock felt cold and uneasy. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and flipped up the collar of his coat, but his actions did nothing to assuage his fears. As the jet roared closer to John, Sherlock grew colder, for instead of feeling closer to John; Sherlock felt John's presence retreating to a place Sherlock would not be able to reach-Moriarty's heart-his soul.


	14. Chapter 14

Moriarty stared down at John's naked body with a mixture of lust and sadness. Carefully, Moriarty laid his naked body next to John's as he softly kissed John on the cheek and then he maneuvered his legs around John's waist pulling John closer to him so that when John opened his eyes in confusion, Moriarty snapped a picture of them both on his iPhone. John was still groggy so that when Moriarty held very still John yawned and went back to sleep. Moriarty waited until John's breathing became heavy once more before he slipped out from underneath John's prone body.

Moriarty's heart beat faster as he pulled out his iPhone and brought up his contact list. As his hand began to shake from excitement Moriarty punched contact SH and then he downloaded the photo of himself and John with the following message: SH: I no longer owe you. I own you for I possess your heart-John.

Moriarty laughed manically as he pushed the send button. "I haven't had a day this fantastic in a long time," Moriarty thought in satisfaction.

Sherlock had tried to curb his need for a cigarette, so that when his phone beeped alerting him that he had a message, he pulled up the message with relief. The relief was short lived for after Sherlock opened Moriarty's message he stood stock still. As his phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground Sherlock leaned his head back struggling for control. Mary was the first to reach Sherlock's phone. She gasped as she downloaded the photo. Mary studied the photo for a moment and then handed the phone over to Mycroft. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and then commented, "The photo's obviously photo shopped." Mycroft hated the sound of his attempt at reassurance for he wasn't sure if the reassurance was for Sherlock, Mary, or both.

Mary took the phone from Mycroft and zoomed in on a section of the photo and examined it more closely. "This photo is definitely John," Mary said softly.

Mycroft sighed. "I didn't say that the person in the photo isn't John I'm saying that…"

Sherlock didn't let Mycroft continue speaking as he snatched the phone out of Mycroft's hand and shouted, "Brother dear, you are an idiot. The picture is real. See the window that is in the photo, well look at its reflection in the mirror above the bed, that same image is reflected in Moriarty's eyes. There is no way that reflection could have been photo shopped." Without another word Sherlock threw the phone over in a corner and stormed out of the room.

John sat in the bathtub soaking; however no amount of washing could make him feel clean. As the water turned from hot, to warm, to lukewarm, John reluctantly left the confines of the tub and got dressed and went to the kitchen where Moriarty was waiting for him. Without a word John sat down in a chair as Moriarty prepared him for shaving. John leaned his head back as Moriarty lathered his face with shaving cream.

"You know, John if you hadn't tried to end yourself I wouldn't have the dubious task of completing this little housekeeping chore for you." Moriarty whispered as he slowly ran a razor over John's stubble. John's hands were tied behind his back, so he held still and let his mind drift back to happier times. John smiled inwardly as he recalled the first time he had met Sherlock in a lab at St. Bart's Hospital. John furrowed his brows in concentration as he desperately fought to retain each detail from that day.

"John, are you listening to me? John?" Moriarty asked trying to keep his voice level.

"Yes," John snapped, angry at the intrusion of his retrospective of he and Sherlock's first meeting. As he looked over at Moriarty, John smiled smugly at the hurt look on Moriarty's face.

"I'm sorry, John," Moriarty said genuinely as he untied John's hands and led him over to a large sink so that he could wash John's hair.

Obediently John stuck his head under the warm water as Moriarty gently lathered John's hair with shampoo. After a few moments Moriarty ran his hands through John's hair to make sure it was rinsed thoroughly. Moriarty's motions felt so good that John couldn't help the chill bumps that made the hair on his arms prickle. It was with relief that John took a towel from Moriarty a rubbed his own hair dry.

Like an inmate with a prison schedule, John next went and sat down at the kitchen table and quietly ate the yogurt and fruit that Moriarty had laid out for him. Moriarty leaned forward and lightly stroked John's wrist, "John, I am picking up a vital document for my investigations. How would you like to go with me?"

John tried to hide his excitement at the thought of going out and so he smiled politely before he casually answered. "That sounds fine," John said as he looked down at the tracking device on his ankle.

Moriarty followed John's glance and then sighed, "John, you are so easy to read. I don't trust you enough to let you come out without the device. I'm sorry, John. I really am," Moriarty said as he paced back and forth through the kitchen. As John watched him pace he felt homesick for Sherlock. For many a time John had watched Sherlock pace in a similar manner.

Sherlock had finished his third cigarette as he paced the perimeter of his room at the safe house in Jerusalem. A soft tap at the door broke Sherlock's pattern as he stopped in irritation. "What is it?" Sherlock yelled as he threw open the door.

Mary stepped back a step or two with a plate of food in her hand. "I brought you something to eat." Mary said as she walked in Sherlock's room and set the tray down on a small table near Sherlock's bed. "Sherlock, you need to keep up your strength. I'm not exactly sure what that photo of John and Moriarty means, but I do know John. He is honest and loyal."

Sherlock laughed bitterly as he took another drag on his cigarette, "Yes, he certainly was honest and loyal with you Mary wasn't he?" Sherlock hissed as he stood in front of Mary. His face was distorted in anger, fear, and grief and as Mary looked down at the ground she reached out and patted Sherlock on the arm and then quietly left the room.

Even though John was technically still a prisoner he enjoyed the cab ride over to their destination. The sun was setting as John and Moriarty got out of the cab and walked towards the meeting place. John wondered where they were and as if Moriarty could read his mind, Moriarty said, "We are at the Garden of Gethsemane-the place where Jesus was supposed to have wept great tears of blood and where Judas betrayed him with a kiss." Moriarty looked into John's eyes and continued on," John, can you imagine being betrayed by one of the people you love most in this world with a kiss?" Moriarty asked as he took John's hand in his own. He then searched John's face for a moment and then sighed as he released John's hand. John frowned as he looked into the tearful depths of Moriarty's liquid brown eyes. There was no time for further contemplation though as a party of four men dressed in black approached them. As John noticed the heavy bulges under each man's jacket, he had no doubt that they were all heavily armed. Moriarty got up from the bench that he and John were sitting on and approached the men. Moriarty took out his phone, punched some data into it and showed it to the head of the party. "This is the amount we agreed upon, correct?" Moriarty asked and then handed the phone over for the man to inspect. The man nodded and handed the phone back to Moriarty. "Now, before I send this wire over to your bank, I want to see the document." Moriarty said as he took a step back.

John watched the proceedings with disinterest for even though he couldn't see it he knew the tracking device was beating waiting for him to make a move. The movement would be John's last for Moriarty had set the device to detonate if John crossed the parameters that Moriarty had programmed into the hateful tracker. As John watched Moriarty's shoulders tense, something wasn't right. John had been in enough situations like this one to know when a deal was going sour and as Moriarty began to argue, John knew for sure that the deal was going sour.

"Hey, that wasn't the deal," the man in front yelled as he took a step closer to Moriarty.

"You promised me a complete document, not a few useless pages," Moriarty shouted back.

In the blink of an eye one of the men pointed a gun at John, "Back up, or I splatter your friend's brains all over that fucking olive tree behind him and believe me there'll be no resurrecting him after I blow him away," the man said as he laughed at his own joke.

Moriarty's face turned a deathly shade of white and John could help thinking that this garden had seen a lot of violence in the last 2,000 years. "Well, I never thought I bite the dust in the Garden of Gethsemane," John thought as he passively waited for the bullet to end his physical existence. For a moment John thought that he just might try and save himself and then he thought cynically, "Why bother?"

As the man held the gun out to pull the trigger John faced his would be attacker with tired, wide blue eyes, as if to say, "It's okay, take me."

Sometimes something happens that is so shocking that it was never even a consideration of the observer, this was one of those times, for as the man pulled the trigger, Moriarty dived in front of John taking the full impact of the bullet.


	15. Chapter 15

John dropped down to Moriarty's side as the gunmen ran off in the opposite direction. Moriarty lay on his back, his eyes open wide. John was just about to undo Moriarty's shirt to assess the damage the bullet did, when Moriarty sat up, ripped open his own shirt to reveal a bullet proof vest. The vest was pierced at heart level and as Moriarty slipped it off a small trickle of blood ran down his sternum.

John examined the wound, tore a piece of the sleeve from Moriarty's shirt and pressed it firmly to staunch the blood flow. "Moriarty, keep pressure on it like this," John said as he took Moriarty's hand in his. As Moriarty's hand replaced John's, their fingers briefly touched becoming slick with Moriarty's blood. John wiped his bloody hand on Moriarty's shirt and then took Moriarty's pulse. Though it beat fast John was satisfied that Moriarty was not in danger. "Come on, let's go," John said as he helped Moriarty up. "There is bound to be Israeli soldiers along any minute." John had no sooner gotten the words out of his mouth when the sound of a group of young women talking reached their ears. John and Moriarty ducked behind a large tree as a group of young female, Uzi carrying soldiers walked through the garden, stopping to chat within ear shot of John and Moriarty's hiding place. Moriarty smiled as he listened to their conservation. John was less amused for he didn't know Hebrew and all he wanted was for those wretched soldiers to leave. John breathed a sigh of relief as they laughed and moved on. Once Moriarty and John were sure the soldiers were gone they came out from their hiding place.

"Well, that was close. What were they talking about anyway?" John snapped irritability.

Moriarty chuckled, "They were talking about their boyfriends."

John sighed and looked off into the distance, "What kind of world do we live in when young women are carrying Uzis and chatting about their boyfriends? "As Moriarty stood beside John, he became acutely aware of Moriarty's presence at his side. "Moriarty, thank you, I mean you didn't have to you know…Take a bullet for me."

Moriarty smiled as he gazed into John's eyes. "You know I would do anything for you, John. What puzzles me is why didn't you kill me and escape when you had the chance?" Moriarty said softly as he lightly ran his fingers over John's arm.

Mycroft gazed at Mary as she stood just outside in the little garden at the safe house. The intense light of the Middle Eastern sun made Mary's hair appear as if it were glowing. Mary turned around and waved at Mycroft. Mycroft's heart pounded in his chest as Mary made her way towards him. She stopped just short of his chest and held up her face for a morning kiss. Mycroft bent down to give her small peck on the cheek and then changed his mind as he drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Mary's tongue moved delicately in Mycroft's mouth and he was so engrossed in the kiss he gasped in surprise when he felt her hand pushing between his legs. Mary pushed harder and harder until Mycroft's arousal soon turned to discomfort as the crotch area of his trousers tightened.

Mycroft had never made love outdoors in his life. "God, there was a first time for everything." Mycroft thought as he lay on his back in the garden. Mary's voice came out in squeaks as Mycroft's long fingers reached into her underwear and began to penetrate her deeper and deeper until Mycroft's hand was wet with Mary's fluid. Mycroft's blue eyes widened and his forehead became dotted with beads of sweat as Mary undid his pants, jerked down his underwear, her hands reaching for the prize inside. Mycroft wanted to roll Mary underneath him and push wildly inside her; instead he gently moved her underneath him, as Mary took her hand and guided him to that warm, sweet place where Mycroft cried out as he thrust into Mary slowly and methodically at first and then faster and faster as Mary groaned thrusting her hips upward so that Mycroft could go deeper inside her.

Mycroft's lips devoured Mary's neck as he murmured softly in her ear. "Mary, I want to please you. Show me where your spot is, for I want to penetrate it so deeply that you scream for me. Come on Mary, show me." Mycroft said as his breath came out in ragged gasps, as Mycroft's movements speeded up and his body thrashed wildly as Mary moved a little to his left Mycroft felt a release as warm fluid from his body poured inside Mary and down her legs. Mycroft could see from Mary's quivering lips and from the way she threw her legs open wider that he had reached her. Mycroft thrust into her a couple more times and then he buried his face in her hair. "Mary, oh God Mary I love you." Mycroft said as he moved his tongue down her body and between her legs. Mary screamed out in pleasure and she pulled on Mycroft's hair as she took her fingers and made the way clearer so that Mycroft's tongue could reach deeper into her. Mary gasped and whimpered as Mycroft's teeth grazed her slightly, so that his tongue could reach its intended target inside her.

Sherlock stood at the window watching Mycroft and Mary make love. Any decent person would have looked away, but Sherlock watched Mycroft's display of passion in fascination, for he had no idea that he could rouse a woman to the ecstasy that Mary was experiencing. Sherlock watched Mary as she screamed and dug her heels into the grass. "She is not faking it," Sherlock thought as Mary screamed, gasped and thrashed underneath Mycroft. "Way to go brother mine," Sherlock thought in amusement. As he turned away from the window Sherlock's loneliness clawed at him until he felt wretched and small. "I've got to do something," Sherlock thought as he restlessly paced the small confines of his room. At one point Sherlock smacked his palm against his forehead in frustration at his own stupidity. "My God, I have been so stupid. I should have thought of Isaac days ago," Sherlock thought as he pulled out his iPhone, brought up his list of contacts and texted: IG Long time no see. In Jerusalem need help with mind palace. SH

John had just finished bandaging up Moriarty when a chime sounded on Moriarty's tablet informing him that he had a message. Moriarty ignored it as he looked at John with those brown glittering eyes. "John, the time has come for me to take you on a journey. A journey if transmutation back in time to Jerusalem as it was in the days of the Knights Templar."

John looked at Moriarty as if he had lost his mind. "What the hell are you getting at?" John snapped. "Is this some kind of trick?"

Moriarty shook his head. "No, it is not a trick. Are you ready to see how I kept from being dead, or how it appears that I can be in two places at once?" Moriarty whispered.

John was fed up with all of Moriarty's double talk. "Sure, why not? What have I got to lose?" John thought bitterly.

A few moments later John stood with Moriarty in what appeared to be a combination of a laboratory and worship center with an altar. John shivered. The place gave him the creeps. Moriarty gestured for John to stand next to him. "John, have you any idea what document I was really after this afternoon?" Moriarty asked and then continued on not waiting for John's answer. "I wanted a recipe, an ancient recipe that showed how years ago a Knight Templar had achieved transmutation. You see John; I wanted to destroy the document, so that no one could duplicate the process." Moriarty then reached into what he called the hood, which was a sterile environment. He then pulled out a small vial, poured a small amount of liquid into a beaker and gently lifted it out, spit in it and drank a small portion and then handed the vial to John.

John looked at the contents of the beaker with distaste and sighed. "This is more up Sherlock's alley; after all he's the one who drank coffee with an eyeball in it." John thought as he took a drink from the beaker. "Well, no guts, no glory," John said aloud.


End file.
